


The Little Things Give You Away

by pancakejai



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Arranged Marriage, I tried my best, Multi, Political Marriage, dont take this seriously i'm honestly practicing writing, im sorry if the summary and story is ass, more characters i'll add when i get around to it, more tags when i figure out how this site works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakejai/pseuds/pancakejai
Summary: After the Battle of Dazar'lor, Sylvanas was forced to calculate what it would take to keep her people and the Horde alive. She was lucky the Alliance's most powerful mage, Jaina Proudmoore, was willing to agree. Now their marriage is the glue that keeps the fragile peace between the Horde and Alliance.
Relationships: Dark Ranger Anya/Taelia Fordragon, Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner, Katherine Proudmoore/Lor'themar Theron, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 144
Kudos: 376





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, welcome to my first ever fanfiction I ever will actually post in my life. This is a feat for me, because normally I keep all my writing to myself. This is honestly for my own self enjoyment and learning, because I want to become a better writer. And I'm a sucker when it comes to arranged/political marriage stories.

Nights in Dalaran were a little cooler than usual, and it was eerily quiet. Although Jaina supposed she preferred it over the boisterous party she just left. Such a silly thing to celebrate; a union between two who would rather be anywhere else. Silly as it was, she couldn’t imagine a better couple for the task. As soon as the vows were uttered, Jaina had materialized beside the liquor table, though no amount of alcohol she drank was nearly enough to soothe her anxiety.

At least she didn’t have to _kiss_ her.

Perhaps, years ago, she wouldn’t have minded entertaining fantasies of marrying a Warchief of the Horde. Being wrapped in arms the color of the summer grass, and fangs protruding from the bottom lip, brushing her chin as she was kissed. That line of thought bordered on dangerously sentimental and another emotion that had faded into dust. The feelings she had for Thrall- no, _Go’el_ , had faded away the moment he left the Horde in the hands of Garrosh.

Jaina let out a small sigh and draped her arms over the balcony. Instead, the arms that she had held onto were of a bluish tint. Smaller. And attached to her former enemy. Vows exchanged with the Queen of the Forsaken, herself. Jaina had only met Sylvanas once when she was still alive. The elvish prince, Kael’thas, had dragged her to some party, fully intending to show her off to elven officials as a potential suitor. The Ranger-General had been a breath of fresh air. Much to the prince’s chagrin, Sylvanas had made a coy joke regarding Jaina and an invitation to her private quarters.

If she hadn’t been under the strict scrutiny of Dalaran media, she might have accepted Sylvanas' offer. Jaina huffed a humorless laugh. Death had changed Sylvanas, and Jaina no longer had any intent on sharing a bed with the elf, now. She was practically a monster.

_“If it is any consolation, Proudmoore, I have no need for sleep. You will have the bed to yourself.” Sylvanas had said, voicing Jaina’s unspoken concerns the moment they entered the room._

_Jaina, true to her namesake, held her chin up proudly, “I’m not afraid to share a bed, Warchief. Unless you are.”_

_Sylvanas’ ear twitched with an emotion Jaina could not read, but her face remained a bored mask. “Of course not, wife. I was only being courteous.”_

_Before Jaina could blink, her wife was breezing out of the doorway. The chill in the air did nothing to distract her from her thoughts. They were going to make each other miserable._

Jaina buried her face in her arms and let out a shuddering breath. She knew she wasn’t going to get much, if any, sleep tonight. Any form of happiness she would have from love slipped through her fingers to pave way for diplomacy.

\---

One would think a wedding was enough to convince someone to take a break from work, but it only made Sylvanas work harder. The hasty treaty between Alliance and Horde called for near immediate action to be taken to put out any metaphorical (and literal) fires. One such fire was the constant land dispute between the orcs and the Kaldorei. This wouldn’t blow over easily considering the Night Elves could be just as stubborn and bloodthirsty as the orcs. With every increasing problem, Sylvanas‘ urge to rub her temples rose.

A shadow moved in the corner of her eye and Sylvanas stilled her quill.

“Anya.”

The elf in question melded out of the shadows. Her piercing red eyes shifted down to the seated Banshee Queen. “Yes, Dark Lady?”

”You are not supposed to be here.”

Anya practically materialized above her shoulder. “Who would stop you from spending the entire night working? Is that why your new wife is upstairs crying her eyes out? Because you’re addicted to working?” Sylvanas’ eyes glared with only a small amount of heat. “Those were rhetorical questions, my queen.”

“Do you have a point, Anya?”

Anya glanced at the parchment on the desk. “With all due respect, Dark Lady, but you’re choosing to work on your wedding night when you can easily pawn these reports off to Blightcaller and try to be civil with your wife. Happy wife, happy unlife, and all that.”

If she had needed to breathe, Sylvanas would have sighed. Anya had made a point regarding Nathanos Blightcaller, however. Paperwork would keep him busy and out of her ear with his newest theory about Proudmoore. His paranoia could be quite exhausting at times.

Sylvanas rolled up the parchment and slid it in Anya’s hand. “Make sure Blightcaller receives this.”

Anya nodded once and began to fade into the shadows.

“Wait.”

She glanced back behind her, both sets of red eyes meeting in the dark.

“Find the Lord Admiral a suitable bodyguard. Preferably someone off-putting and threatening; the constant attempt on her life that is sure to ensue from this union will get rather tiresome.”

\---

The lump on the bed that was Jaina Proudmoore trembled every so often, accompanied by small sniffling sounds that filled the air. She felt stupid. Weak. Indulging in these feelings of self pity and anger was just going to make this situation worse. She clenched the sheets around her tighter and tucked her knees under her chin.

Stop it.

Stop crying.

She was too lost in her thoughts to hear the bedroom door creak. To hear nearly silent footsteps gliding over the hardwood. She did, however, hear someone clear their throat from directly behind her. Jaina let out a rather undignified yelp and tumbled off the bed onto the cold floor.

Sylvanas stood on the other end looking rather amused (and if Jaina hadn’t known better, she’d say she was looking rather sheepish) and holding a glass of water.

“Do you not realize how quiet you can be?” Jaina hissed, trying to free herself from the blanket she pulled with her.

Sylvanas didn’t answer that question, and, instead, sat the glass down on the nightstand. “The old wolf would have my head on a pike if I let you die from self neglect.”

Jaina glanced at the water for a second before flicking her eyes back to Sylvanas; trying to decide whether or not this was a trap. The banshee regarded her meticulously, lingering in her tear-stained cheeks. Despite her emotional state, Jaina stared back, icily. Sylvanas stood straight and held her hands behind her back, looking pointedly between the mage and the glass of water.

When Jaina did not make an effort to move, Sylvanas made a show of rolling her eyes as if the whole situation was tedious for her and drawled, “Unfortunately for me, having a miserable spouse will make me just as miserable. Drink.”

Jaina felt a sense of defiance rise in her chest, but she knew Sylvanas was right. The whole point of this marriage was to create a stable peace between the Alliance and Horde. Lack of sleep, thirst, and hunger were major catalysts when it came to her stress. And from stress came anger. Striking down Sylvanas out of rage would lead the Horde into seeking revenge, and villainizing the Alliance.

However, the reverse could be said for Sylvanas.

“Fine,” Jaina conceded, finally looking away, “I’ll keep a better eye on my health.”

The Banshee Queen, vain as ever, smirked wickedly. Clearly, seeing this as some sort of petty victory. “We will get along swimmingly, Proudmoore.”

“You have to take care of yourself too.”

Sylvanas’ ears pressed up against her hood in an emotion Jaina learned long ago from Vereesa. Shock. Her face would never betray that emotion, though. The Warchief of the Horde was methodical and calculating, with an elegant coolness.

“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Sylvanas said, breezily, “I no longer suffer from the basic needs of the living.”

Jaina stood, slowly making her way to the nightstand. “You get injured in battle. You probably overwork as much as I do. And you have a habit of letting anger dictate your actions,” Taking a long drink from the glass, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before continuing, “I honestly don’t care what you do. Gamble. Get drunk, if you can. Haunt someone’s cellar.”

Despite Jaina’s slight advantage she had in height, she still felt small, like she was sinking into the floor at Sylvanas’ intense gaze. If Sylvanas was irritated by her scathing tone, she made no show of it. Jaina briefly wondered if she had lessons in acting during her life.

Sylvanas simply nodded her head. “As you wish, wife.”

And as swiftly as she came, she left.

___

Voices laced with a subtle echo forced Jaina out of her sleep. She wanted to sleep longer. Stay in the comfort and warmth the bed gave for at least a week, maybe even a month, but she knew she couldn’t. There was work to do and a union, fragile as it was, to hold. Dread set in once again as Jaina remembered who exactly she was married to.

The Banshee Queen.

The voices were still reverberating through the floor and Jaina finally forced her eyes open to the soft glow of sunlight spilling from the balcony. The glass of water Sylvanas had brought her was forgotten and half empty. Jaina’s hand struck out like a snake and she snatched the glass up and gulped the rest of the water down greedily. Briefly, she could see her faint reflection in the glass and saw how weary and miserable she looked.

She needed coffee.

After making herself somewhat presentable, Jaina walked down the stairs to the source of the voices. Sylvanas’ voice was much more authoritative than it was last night, her banshee echo subtly layering her voice; she was speaking in Thalassian. Jaina silently thanked younger her for studying the graceful language in depth.

“...are to accompany the Lord Admiral wherever she goes. There are those, Alliance and Horde, who would rather see bloodshed than peace.”

A deep voice with the echo of undeath replied. “I shall serve the Lord Admiral as vigorously as I serve you, Dark Lady.”

A death knight?

When Jaina reached the bottom of the stairs, she was met with the sight of Sylvanas, and the owner of the other voice.

The first thing she saw was the bluish-green ears of an elf cuffed in metal poking out of the sides of a helmet. He was tall. Taller than every high elf, and even night elf, Jaina had ever known. Almost every inch of him was covered in heavy plate and thick leather, except for his arms. A hand coated in steel-knuckled, fingerless gauntlets held onto a polearm that was reminiscent of a scythe and two shorter runeblades were sheathed in the opposite scabbard on his waist. Jaina wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of the dark magic coursing through him or just the nature of the helmet, but the only part of his face she could see we’re the two glowing blue eyes shining out.

Two sets of glowing eyes, red and blue, flicked to Jaina standing at the end of the staircase.

“Welcome, wife,” Sylvanas said in common, “It’s nice of you to join us so late in the morning.”

Jaina rolled her eyes, knowing the sun had only risen a short while ago. “Before I can start dealing with your snide, passive aggressive attitude, I’m going to need coffee.”

Sylvanas gestured to three identical mugs resting on the table, steam rising steadily. Jaina was suddenly aware of the savory scent of coffee and gravitated to the mug that was not sitting in front of the other two. She took a sip and-

“Blegh.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrow quirked and if the other elf had any concerns, he did not show it.

“Is there a problem, Proudmoore?”

Jaina glowered at Sylvanas. “Of course you sully your coffee with milk and sugar. Can you even taste anything?”

Sylvanas shrugged and took a sip of her own mug. “No, it all tastes the same to me.”

The mage opened her mouth to question why Sylvanas would even need to add sweeteners, but decided better of it.

“Now,” Sylvanas started. “This is one of the Horde champions, Nokrogroa. Champion, this my consort, Lady Jaina Proudmoore.”

Nokrogroa stood from his seat, using his polarm as leverage and gave her an… orcish salute? All the time spent around orcs seemed to rub off on the other races of the Horde. Hell, they were all somewhat fluent in Orcish.

“It is an honor to serve, Lady Proudmoore,” Nokrogroa vowed.

Jaina recognized him after a small moment of observation. He was among the champions that she battled when she froze the ocean over outside of Dazar’Alor. An incredible feat, even for the most notable mages in history.

“I’m sure you’re well aware, Champion,” Jaina spoke around a smile that was nowhere near authentic, “I am rather capable of taking care of myself.”

Nokrogroa’s ears betrayed none of what he might have felt at her cold tone and he instead tilted his head vaguely. “If I may, Lady Proudmoore?”

“You may.”

“I understand you are more than capable of defending yourself from any threat, but constant attempts on your life will make this far treaty more fragile than it already is. I am to accompany you to dissuade such dissent.”

Ever the scholar at heart, Jaina could not argue a valid point. “I suppose it would be nice to be kept company when away from my… doting wife.”

She celebrated internally when she caught Sylvanas’ ears twitch in ire.

___

Naturally, Jaina tried to lose her new death knight shaped shadow as quickly as possible, but that proved futile. She could hardly fathom how someone so large and heavily plated could manage to keep pace with her strides. His footsteps were oddly quiet and brisk. His movements were far more graceful and fluid than she expected. There was no losing him without being so blatantly obvious about it. The citizens of Dalaran watched her with concern shining in their eyes. Clearly thinking Nokrogroa was a means to oppress her.

This was going to get old fast.

Jaina whirled around on her heel. “Nokrogroa.”

Nokrogroa stood just three steps away from her. “Lady Proudmoore?”

“Walk alongside me.”

He nodded and stepped alongside her. And Jaina was grateful he did not question orders. Sylvanas had told her every order she gave him had the same weight as her own

Jaina gave Nokrogroa a sidelong glance, his glowing eyes staring straight ahead as they walked. “You are far less cavalier than most high elves I’ve known.”

His hand tightened around his polearm; the first emotional reaction she had gotten out of him and a thick silence passed between him. Something about that statement had bothered him and Jaina couldn’t even bother to decipher what it possibly could be. There were no elves as modest as him. As tall as he was. As large as he was. And he had this accent she recognized, but could not place.

He spoke finally, when she wasn’t expecting a response. “I was raised humbly, Lord Admiral.”

Resisting the urge to pry further, Jaina kept silent. The time she spent with Vereesa after Theramore made Jaina assume she was a near expert in elven body language. All the nights they spent with each other ensured she could read Vereesa like a book. Even Sylvanas’ stoicism was somewhat decipherable. Perhaps it was bigoted to think all elves were alike, but Nokrogroa was unlike any elf she had ever met.

She knocked three times on the door in front of her, her bodyguard stopping a few feet to the side of her.

Platinum hair, glowing eyes, and a warm smile answered moments later. “Jaina. What a pleasant surprise.”

Jaina reached out to pull Vereesa into a hug and gave her a friendly greeting, ignoring Nokrogroa’s cold gaze falling on her. Whatever Sylvanas and her lackeys knew - or _thought_ they knew about their relationship - didn’t matter to Jaina.

No matter how real it felt then.

Vereesa spared a nervous glance to Nokrogroa’s direction. “You can… both come in for tea if you like.”

“Don’t worry about him.” Jaina reassured her. “He’s harmless.”

She was half-convinced she imagined the huff that came from the death knight’s direction. Vereesa nodded slowly and opened the door wider to accommodate her new guests. Jaina gave her a soft smile and followed her, Nokrogroa ghosting her footsteps. Jaina was dimly aware of two twin sets of ears watching them from the staircase.

“How are Giramar and Galadin?”

“They’re growing like weeds, the little terrors,” Vereesa’s ears wilted with sorrow, “I see their father in them every day.”

Jaina laid a hand on her upper arm and gave a soothing squeeze. “I understand.”

A silence fell over them as Jaina sat on the couch, Nokrogroa standing guard by the doorway. Vereesa set two teacups down on the table and poured steaming, fragrant tea inside them.

“Would your bodyguard like some tea?”

Before Jaina could repeat the question, Nokrogroa declined. “No, thank you, my lady.”

The mage shrugged. “Well, there you go.”

“So,” Vereesa started, “How is the married life treating you?”

“With every passing second, I regret agreeing to this stupid farce of a marriage more.” Vereesa blinked at the bold words as Jaina reached for the teacup, not stopping for any milk and sugar. “She’s vain, irritating, and far too pretty for her own good- and she _knows_ it.”

“You aren’t the first woman to say such things about my sister. She was quite the heartbreaker in life.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of that. She had no problems flirting with me at Kael’thas’ high end parties.”

Vereesa gave her a knowing smile. “And you were practically eager to go to her rooms in the cover of night. You aren’t innocent either, Jaina.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That trail of broken hearts you left all over Dalaran? After your romance with Arthas ended?”

“I was young, Ve-”

“Pained?”

“That wasn’t serious-”

“Thrall?”

“We both knew it was never going to work out between us-”

“Me?”

“Vereesa, I’m sorry if I hurt you-”

Vereesa let out a high laugh, ears shooting up in amusement. “I’m just messing with you. I knew exactly what it was when it happened and there are no sore feelings left over.”

Jaina let out a small sigh and buried her free hand in her face. “I see your point, but couldn’t help it. Once a sailor, always a sailor.”

“I’m just saying, you two have far more in common than you think. That mask she wears is just that, a mask. It’s the same mask she wore when she was the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, just a different shape.” Vereesa looked down at the dregs in the bottom of her teacup. “It took quite a few slaps in the face for me to recognize that she’s still my stubborn sister.”

Jaina gave a half-smile and glanced toward the window. “Funny how I came here to ask for advice on how to deal with her without putting a frostbolt in her head.”

“You’ll learn to tolerate her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Jaina/Kalec doesn't need to exist ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaina drools, Sylvanas rules. Nokrogroa stares everyone down. Anduin needs a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a wild ride.

Who would’ve thought a peace treaty would require Sylvanas to work through the most paperwork she had ever seen in all of her years on Azeroth? Opposite her, Jaina Proudmoore looked almost giddy to have this much work to do. Leave it to a mage to actually enjoy reviewing tax law and delegating ambassadors to various major cities. Sylvanas resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As much as she’d like to pass off all this work to Nathanos, she wasn’t sure how much time he could spend in the same room as the Lord Admiral before she put an ice spike through his head.

Jaina sat down what had to be her fourth mug of coffee. After the incident at the beginning of the week involving Sylvanas’ liberal use of sweeteners, the only coffee Jaina would drink was brewed by her own hand. The Dark Lady supposed she had been ‘well-behaved’ as of late; keeping her constant itch to irritate Jaina suppressed, Sylvanas just buried herself in busywork and only exchanged a few words with her wife. Maybe minimizing verbal contact was the best decision.

A sudden movement snapped Sylvanas out of her thoughts. Jaina stood from her seat and made her way to the door of the study. Sylvanas’ self control was rather short-lived from the start.

“No kiss goodnight?”

Jaina didn’t need to turn around for Sylvanas to know she was giving a well-deserved eyeroll. “I beg your unbelievable pardon?”

Sylvanas stretched her legs onto the desk, boots thumping quietly on the wood. “It’s good luck to kiss your lover goodnight.”

It was a miracle the wood of the door didn’t splinter under the strength of her grip. Jaina turned her head just enough to make eye contact with the source of her frustration.

“Well, you better find your little pet, Blightcaller.”

Sylvanas’ ear twitched in unchecked rage and before she could come up with a retaliation, Jaina had left the room. She unclenched her hand, the crumpled report falling out of it onto the desk. Feeling slighted, Sylvanas knew she wasn’t in the mood to do any more work tonight. She shouldn’t feel too surprised, for someone who mastered the intricacies of frost magic, Jaina had a fiery edge to her personality. Sylvanas’ anger faded and she allowed a small smirk. It wouldn’t be a battle of wits if her opponent wasn’t evenly matched with her.

\---

Sylvanas was the most frustrating, pig-headed person she had ever met. Jaina yanked the covers up to her shoulders and tried not to focus on how fast her heart was beating. The most insulting part of the night was that she was unsure of whether it was the caffeine or Sylvanas’ crude ‘joke’ that was making it race. Her pride would blame it on the coffee in the end.

Jaina shut her eyes tightly and tried to will the caffeine out of her system, but it was a futile effort. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from wandering to the dangerous corners of her mind. Any emotion she felt in the last week was nowhere near as horrible as the sickening feeling of shame in the pit of her stomach. Part of her wanted to know whether Sylvanas’ lips were as cool as the rest of her.

Or, perhaps, indulge her endless curiosity that stemmed from meeting the Ranger-General all those years ago. The Sylvanas who was very much alive and warm. The Sylvanas who had the most wickedly gorgeous smile she had ever seen, with that slight hint of fang underneath. Jaina could barely stop her next thought in its tracks, but not soon enough to briefly imagine the scrape of those elvish fangs against her lip.

She hated herself for her curiosity.

Sylvanas wasn't the same kind, charming ranger she was in life. Well, she was still incredibly (and infuriatingly) charming, but her charm and her cool nature became one of her greatest weapons. She was still a warmonger at the end of the day. Jaina was still trying to calculate why the Alliance was even willing to hear the Horde out after the carnage of Teldrassil. Why Vol’jin had passed the mantle of Warchief to her in his last moments.

Jaina squeezed her eyelids tighter in a vain attempt to quiet her mind. If sleep wasn’t going to come to her, she supposed she would have to fake it till she did eventually fall asleep.

—-

A shout broke Sylvanas from her reverie and before she knew it, she was halfway up the stairs. She recognized it to be Jaina’s voice almost instantly, though this was the first time she had ever heard so much terror in her voice. Nokrogroa was already sliding out of the room they gave him, by the time Sylvanas reached the corridor that contained the rooms on the top floor. Still dressed in most of his plate, helmet obscuring his face from view, and carrying a single one of his runeblades, he gave Sylvanas a short, questioning look. The Banshee signaled him to follow, but remain a few feet behind her, their footsteps light and cautious. If there was an intruder, she didn’t want them to know she was coming.

Sylvanas reached the bedroom and pressed her ear against the door to listen. She only heard the shaky breathing and quiet whimpers of someone who was obviously crying. As far as she could tell, the only person in the room was Jaina.

Sylvanas turned to face Nokrogroa. “Return to your room, Champion. I shall handle this myself.”

“Yes, my queen.”

Sylvanas turned the doorknob and entered the room, her footsteps mirroring the steps of the death knight retreating down the hall. Blue eyes, glowing with arcane energy, met the faint light of Sylvanas’ red ones. Jaina’s hand was already raised, already crackling with a half-cooked spell. 

“Oh, it’s just you.” Jaina gasped out, the spell fizzling out.

In the few seconds it took for Jaina’s arcane coursing through Jaina’s eyes to fade, Sylvanas had approached the side of the bed, hands clasped behind her back. “Nightmare?”

Jaina forced her breathing back under control. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Warchief.”

Sylvanas’ face hardened. “It becomes my business when I assume an intruder is attacking my wife.”

Jaina didn’t have a retort prepared and instead buried her face in her hands. The shaky breath she let out muffled by her fingers. “Just… leave me alone.”

Sylvanas stood there for a few more moments, then turned towards the door. “As you wish.”

Sylvanas’ fingers barely grazed the door knob before Jaina spoke again. “Wait. Stay.”

It was nearly impossible to suppress the many things Sylvanas wanted to say in response, but she managed to stay silent. Now was not the time to be facetious. The look Jaina gave her when she turned around was a riddle that Sylvanas didn’t have the cognizance to solve. She approached the bed again after the Lord Admiral had tucked herself back in. Jaina patted blindly behind her back at the empty space on the other end of the bed. “Sit.”

Sylvanas tried to ignore how the tension in Jaina’s figure relaxed when Sylvanas added her weight to the mattress. “Is there anything else, Proudmoore?”

A voice laced with exhaustion replied after a short moment. “Quiet.”

Sylvanas obliged and laid on her back, staring up at the dark of the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep anymore of course, but she closed her eyes anyway and listened to Jaina’s breathing slow gradually. The next time she opened her eyes, the mage had unconsciously rolled over in her sleep and attached herself to Sylvanas’s right arm.

She tried to ignore the pang in her unbeating heart when she saw just how soft Jaina’s features were when she was asleep.

\---

Jaina awoke to a scent of flowers and cold steel lingering on the bed sheets. Squinting away the light coming in from the balcony doors, she wiped the saliva from the side of her cheek. Sylvanas was long gone, most likely leaving at the first light of the morning. Jaina sat up bracing her hand on the spot where the Banshee had laid.

Wait.

_ Her half-awake state seeking anything to hold onto, Jaina came across the cool arm of an unnaturally still person.  _

_ Perfect.  _

_ She turned over and molded her body along the limb, resting her head on the shoulder it was attached to. _

Had she really fucking drooled on the Warchief of the Horde? Cuddled with her, even? Jaina let out a small groan, angry at her half-asleep state for showing that kind of weakness. She was never going to hear the end of it from Sylvanas, and as much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t hide in the bedroom all day. Today marked the first of the monthly leadership meetings to maintain the peace, and Jaina was dreading dealing with Genn and Sylvanas being in the same vicinity of each other. Or worse, her and Nathanos.

She got dressed, buckling on her gauntlet and pauldron, and retrieving her staff. Finally mustering up the nerve to leave the bedroom, she kept a steady pace down the hallway, larger footsteps joining hers right before she reached the stairs.

“Good morning, Nokrogroa,” Jaina said, without turning around.

“Good morning, my Queen.”

Jaina nearly tripped down the last few steps and whirled around to face Nokrogroa. “ _ Queen? _ ”

Nokrogroa gave her his signature head tilt, not at all affected by the weight of the heavy steel of the helmet. “You are wedded to the Queen of the Forsaken, Lady Proudmoore. That makes you a queen as well, no?”

“Okay,” Jaina conceded. “But what does that make me in correlation to her role as Wachief?”

“Her second in command, I believe.” He answered after following her to the kitchen. “The only command higher than yours is the Dark Lady herself.”

“So, my word carries the same weight as hers in the Horde?”

Nokrogroa handed her the container of coffee grinds before she even needed to ask. “Yes, my lady. Over all others.”

Jaina couldn’t stop the small smirk from forming on her face. “Even Blightcaller?”

“Especially the Ranger Lord,” Nokrogroa replied, and Jaina heard amusement flood his voice. “He would be obligated to follow any order you give him, otherwise it will be considered treason.”

Jaina smirk widened to a fully-fledged grin as she used magic to heat up the water, feeling too lazy to wait for it to boil. “That’s good to know for future reference.”

Coffee in hand, she headed to the living room where she knew Sylvanas was waiting. Dreading the inevitable mocking she was sure to get, Jaina took a long sip of her drink. She didn’t wait for it to cool down, hoping scalding her tongue was enough to soothe her anxiety. The relief she felt when she found the living room empty was almost unbearable. The stress in her shoulders was visibly fading away. 

“Hello, lover.” 

Once again, Sylvanas startled Jaina to the point of her almost having a heart attack. Jaina spun on her heel to glare at the banshee, watching her casually wipe away an imaginary spot on her left shoulder. Where Jaina’s face was pressed mere hours ago. Cheeks flaring with heat, Jaina turned away from Sylvanas and took another large gulp of searing coffee. “We are not, and never will be lovers.”

“Whatever you say, Proudmoore. Finish your drink or we’ll be late.”

Jaina lost all her appetite at that moment and set her mug on the living room table. “We might as well leave now.”

Sylvanas pushed herself off the doorframe and offered Jaina her elbow. “Come now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Wouldn’t it be appropriate to link arms and walk side by side?” Sylvanas gave her a pensive look that Jaina knew was doctored. “If only to show unity and equality in this fragile peace?”

Jaina thought it would be even more appropriate to freeze Sylvanas in an ice block and leave her there to thaw out for the next few days, but she decided to be the bigger person. Sliding her arm into the crook of Sylvanas’ elbow, she realized she was literally the bigger person; by a few inches. A smug smile graced Jaina’s lips as she contemplated the perfect comeback.

“You might need to start wearing heels, Warchief.” Jaina quipped, “It hardly shows equality if we are different heights.”

Sylvanas’s ears twitched with anger and Jaina felt increased pressure on her arm as the banshee practically yanked her out of the door. Jaina had nearly forgotten Nokrogroa was accompanying them until she heard the slight rattle of his armor, trailing behind them. It wasn’t long before they reached the Violet Citadel, watching people of varying sizes and races flood into the building. 

A night elf who Jaina recognized as an Alliance champion (and an old friend of her late bodyguard, Pained) gave the mage a friendly nod. Elenaril was a kind soul, being the one to accompany Katherine Proudmoore into Thros to free Jaina from her own torment. The distinct sound of leather tightening and rubbing against wood broke her out of her thoughts. She turned her head slightly to the sight of Nokrogroa gripping his pole arm tighter than usual. And his gaze fixed on Elenaril. Jaina looked ahead again to see Elenaril staring back at him, her brows furrowed and a minuscule frown on her face.

Now, what was that all about?

She didn’t have much time to ponder that small interaction as she caught sight of Nathanos Blightcaller standing near the entrance of the meeting hall. He gave a ranger’s salute to Sylvanas, pointedly ignoring the other two. 

“Greetings, Dark Lady.” He finally glanced between Nokrogroa and Jaina. “I see you brought along the consort and the half-breed.”

“I have a name,  _ Blightcaller _ .” 

Nokrogroa’s reaction was far less hostile than Jaina, but there was still disdain laced in his voice. “Ranger-Lord.”

Nathanos gave Jaina a withering look, but kept his tone faux-polite. “I apologize, Lady Proudmoore. It gets rather difficult to distinguish between your individuality and your… role.”

Before Jaina could show him where he could stick his damn ‘apology’, Sylvanas gave her arm a squeeze and spoke, “Enough small talk, Blightcaller. The meeting is starting momentarily.”

Nokrogroa moved forward to hold the door open, and Jaina and Sylvanas stepped through first. He ‘accidentally’ let the door swing closed while Nathanos was walking through the threshold. 

“Oh, pardon me, Ranger-Lord. The door slipped out of my hand.”

Jaina bit the knuckle of her free hand to stifle a chuckle and she definitely didn’t miss the small grin on Sylvanas’ face as she took her seat to the right of the banshee. Nathanos took the seat to the left of Sylvanas, clearly unhappy that Jaina took his usual chair. Nokrogroa stood behind them, shifting his pose into something that was reminiscent of a military parade rest.

Anduin Wrynn, Tyrande Whisperwind, Genn Graymane, Go’el, Gallywix, Lor’themar Theron, Varok Saurfang, and a few other impressive names took their seats around the table. Trying not to be obvious about their glances in Jaina and Sylvanas’ direction. Elenaril was here too, standing behind Tyrande and staring directly at Nokrogroa. 

King Anduin Wrynn cleared his throat in an attempt to break the stifling silence. “Is everyone ready to start?”

After a few affirmative noises around the room Anduin started speaking again, “I would like to welcome all of you to the first official meeting between our unified factions.”

Sylvanas rested her chin in her hand, watching the room with barely contained amusement.

The weariness in Anduin’s voice as he continued with his introduction made Jaina’s heart hurt. He had been forced to grow up uncannily quickly and take his father’s responsibility at only eighteen and she wondered if there was still enough of the boy that called her ‘Auntie’ still left in him.

“And lastly, I want to thank the Warchief, Sylvanas Windrunner, and Lord Admiral, Jaina Proudmoore for their union, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to meet peacefully.”

Alleria Windrunner finally mustered up the nerve to look at Sylvanas. “It is very intriguing how my sister was so suddenly interested in peace.” Beside Alleria, Vereesa winced and sunk lower in her seat in an attempt to seem smaller.

“I don’t know what lies our younger sister has poisoned your mind with, Lady Sun, but I always have the best interests of my people in mind.”

Alleria half rose from her seat. “The best interests of your people are what drove you to burn down Teldrassil?”

Tyrande cast a dark look in Sylvanas’ direction. “We should have killed you when we had the chance, banshee. You murdered my people and rose them into twisted mockeries of rangers.”

Genn Graymane jumped in, always eager to come to verbal blows with the Warchief. “Are you so surprised? She has always been a murderer.”

Sylvanas’ bared her fangs in the old worgen’s direction. “You’re one to talk, mutt. How many Horde innocents were slain by your precious Alliance when you laid siege to my city? How many orc non-combatants and children were imprisoned in internment camps all over Lordaeron and Gilneas?”

Alleria was fully out of her seat now, the void coursing through her more and more with each passing second. “You saw what those savages did to our brother. The fact that I came home to you  _ leading _ them is insulting to his memory.”

A low sound that sounded close to a growl came from Nokrogroa’s direction.

An eerie smoke was billowing out of Sylvanas now. “The real insult stems from the fact you abandoned the last two remaining members of your family to chase after demons. Vereesa and I needed you, and you left anyway.” Her high banshee echo layering her voice.

Vereesa looked increasingly uncomfortable being dragged into this, dropping her gaze to the hardwood in front of her, but Alleria didn’t notice and snapped back at Sylvanas. “You don’t have any right to-“

“Enough.” Jaina said, arcane amplifying her voice. “Sit down.”

Everyone, even Anduin, slipped back into their seats.

“The whole point of this meeting,” Jaina articulated after a short pause. “Is to forgive each other for past transgressions and build a lasting peace. Which will be rather difficult if we are constantly at  _ each other’s throats.” _

She reached under the table and grabbed Sylvanas’ wrist, shooting a barb of frost through her arm. She could feel the tendons in Sylvanas’ wrist flex as she unclenched her hand. Eventually, the banshee flicked her eyes back to Anduin. “My apologies, your majesty. Continue.”

“Let’s get to the task at hand.” Letting out a deep, exhausted sigh, Anduin shuffled a few papers around in front of him. “One pressing matter is where the couple will reside. While Dalaran is a great temporary solution, it is not the ideal place to conduct Forsaken or Kul Tiran matters.”

“Sylvanas and I have already discussed this.” Jaina answered, trying to ignore the way the banshee’s eyes flicked to her at the use of her first name. “We have decided to alternate between Boralus and Lordaeran every three months, starting with Boralus.”

“Jaina, is correct. We will spend the next three months residing in Proudmoore Keep with her mother and brother.”

The rest of the table tried not to seem uncomfortable with the sudden use of first names.

Sylvanas flexed her hand again and Jaina was suddenly very aware that she was still holding onto Sylvanas’ wrist. She let go and slid her hand back into her lap, doing her utmost to keep down the heat attempting to flood to her cheeks. Jaina spent the rest of the meeting pointedly ignoring the attractive smirk on Sylvanas’ face and Go’el and Vereesa giving her sidelong, knowing looks across the table.

It was harder than she expected to not let her gaze drift to the woman beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you all enjoyed that absolute rollercoaster of emotions I threw on some paper.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nokrogroa hates water. Jaina has questionable tastes. Family is everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well

Jaina missed the feeling of being out at sea. The rocking of a ship as it navigated through waves, the scent of the saltwater in the air, the occasional rustle of the flag at the top of the mast. It made her so nostalgic, and the inner sailor in her rejoiced at being at sea again. The ocean was her home. The one place she felt completely in control. They could have very easily teleported to Kul Tiras, but Jaina felt it was far more appropriate to sail there. What kind of Lord Admiral would she be if she didn’t jump on every opportunity to sail?

Sylvanas did not share her sentiments it seemed, electing to confide herself in the cabin instead of joining her wife on the deck. 

Jaina winced as she heard another dry heave come from Nokrogroa. At least he was kind enough to keep her company on the deck, even if he was a little greener than usual. She didn’t even know undead could suffer from seasickness. Another gagging sound came from his direction and Jaina was grateful he did not retain the need to eat after death. If he did, she knew the inside of his helmet he insisted on wearing at all times would be splattered with the contents of his stomach.

When the sun reached its peak in the sky, Jaina turned to the miserable form of Nokrogroa half hanging off the deck, his ears wilting pitifully. “I’m going inside for some afternoon tea.”

Nokrogroa only gave her a nod, making no effort to get up and follow her.

She navigated through various salutes and “Lord Admiral”s from Kul Tiran sailors she passed on her way to the cabin. Each sailor looked at her with even more awe than the previous. It made her feel rather awkward, but she needed to get used to it. There would be countless more years of this; even more than usual considering the sheer amount of arcane in her lengthened her lifespan an uncanny amount. She hypothesized that it slowed her aging considerably too, because she didn’t physically look or feel nearly forty. Of course, emotionally, she felt well beyond forty.

Jaina opened the door to her cabin and held back a groan of annoyance when she found Sylvanas lounging on the bed in a distinctly feline manner, that only elves could pull off. Sylvanas decided to forgo her armor for once and settled on wearing a simple tunic and trousers.

“Afternoon, wife.” Sylvanas purred, glancing up from the book in front of her.

Jaina picked up the kettle, already full of fresh water, and set it above the fireplace. “What are you reading?”

“Some book I found stashed on the pitiful excuse for a bookshelf in this room,” Sylvanas idly flipped a page, “An indulgent story full of naval battles and debauchery.”

Jaina chuckled to herself and lit the fireplace with a spark of magic. “A lot of Kul Tiran stories are like that. What’s the title of the book?”

“Full Mast.”

Jaina froze in her movements. The flush that flooded her neck and face betrayed her at that moment and she could feel Sylvanas’ gaze burning through her. There was nothing Jaina could say that wasn’t incriminating, her wife didn’t need to know that book was one of Jaina’s guilty vices. She  _ definitely  _ didn’t need to know that ‘Full Mast’ was part of a series of books that the Lord Admiral was eagerly awaiting the fifth volume of. She shakily filled her teacup.

“... _ the First Mate shed her pants and strolled over to where the Captain was waiting, eagerly straddling him with vigo-“ _

Jaina cut in before it could get infinitely worse. “You can stop now.”

“Why is that?” Sylvanas practically purred. “You don’t think it might be fun to reenact some of these scenes?”

Jaina nearly splattered the hot tea filling her mouth all over the surface in front of her. 

Before Jaina could respond with a death threat, Sylvanas let out a high pitched, genuine laugh. Her frown deepened as she watched the banshee clutch her sides and nearly fall off the bed.

“It wasn’t that funny.”

“I found it rather hilarious, Jaina.”

Jaina’s eyes widened at the very rare use of her first name, but she held her tongue. Sylvanas didn’t even seem to be aware she had called her Jaina for once instead of the usual ‘Proudmoore’ or ‘wife’. Jaina dimly wondered how Sylvanas would react if she started referring to her as ‘Windrunner’ just to give her a taste of what it felt like to be constantly referred to by her surname.

Sylvanas rolled onto her back, her snickers still dying down. “That offer still stands.”

Jaina gave her a glare over the rim of her teacup. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re mentally twelve.”

Sylvanas sat up. “Oh, Proudmoore, I haven’t been twelve in centuries.”

Jaina just rolled her eyes and filled up another serving of tea, aware of Sylvanas standing up and fetching her own teacup. “I thought you didn’t eat or drink?”

Sylvanas took the kettle and filled up her cup to the brim. “I still have fluids that need replacing. And the feeling of warmth, of heat, it’s… desirable.” 

Jaina watched as Sylvanas braced herself on the table using her free hand and took a sip of her tea. The urge to place her hand on the banshee’s was nearly overwhelming. “You can feel heat, but not cold?”

“I can feel cold, but not the discomfort that comes along with it.” Sylvanas’ corrected, Jaina was vaguely aware of how close their faces were. “Heat fills me up all the way to the extremities of my body. I cannot explain the feeling.”

Jaina watched the way Sylvanas’ lips wrapped around the rim of the cup. She bit her tongue before she could say her next words.

“Are you alright, Proudmoore?”

“I, um-” Jaina jerked her head to the side, swallowing - her throat suddenly unbearably dry and stood from the desk, “Just feeling a little tired is all.”

Sylvanas pushed herself off the desk and offered Jaina her free hand. “You should sleep. You’ve expended a good amount of energy keeping the seas calm for us.”

Jaina considered ignoring Sylvanas’ hand, but for once, the banshee was showing an authentic gesture of friendship. She took her hand and allowed herself to be pulled from her chair. “A nap does sound good.”

Sylvanas let out a low chuckle, steering the mage towards the bed. “I’ll keep watch.”

Taking a seat on the bed, Jaina regarded Sylvanas for a moment before speaking again. “Or you could go keep my poor guard company on the deck. I wasn’t aware your kind could get sick.”

Sylvanas ignored Jaina’s suggestion and instead sat in the chair Jaina was previously occupying moments ago. “He will be fine. Between all of the Forsaken and Death Knights in Azeroth, he’s probably the one with the weakest constitution.”

Jaina laid down on her side, not bothering to use the blanket for cover. “He’s still miserable.”

“He thrives off of living through misery; since he was very young.”

Since he was young?

Jaina’s eyes snapped open and she gave Sylvanas a questioning look. “So you knew him while he was young and still alive? Is there something about him you aren’t telling me?”

Sylvanas did not respond and instead turned away to refill her teacup.

“ _ Warchief _ .” 

Sylvanas’ long ear flicked away at the warning in Jaina’s tone, but she stayed silent.

Jaina sat up halfway. “Sylvanas-”

“It is not my place to speak of his past.” She took another sip. “If you are so curious about him, you should ask him yourself.”

Jaina eyed her with slight suspicion for a second before she fell back onto the bed. “I’m too tired to be curious right now.”

Sylvanas replied with a small hum and nothing else. Before Jaina knew it, she was fast asleep.

\---

Dressed in finely polished armor, Sylvanas stood to the left of her wife, their arms linked. Jaina was dressed in an equally resplendent outfit, reminiscent of a naval captain. They looked every bit of the powerful couple the world had made of them since the day of their wedding. The isles that made up Kul Tiras occupied more and more of the horizon the closer the ship got. Sylvanas could feel the nervousness and uncertainty billowing off of Jaina exponentially. She gave her arm a slight, but very noticeable squeeze in an attempt to calm the mage down.

Jaina gave Sylvanas a surprised look out of the corner of her eye, confused by the sudden reassurance from the banshee. Sylvanas squeezed her arm again, still staring straight ahead and ignoring the small smile that split Jaina’s features. She tried not to pay any attention to how the sight of Jaina’s smile had made her feel, but to no avail, searching the deepest corners of her mind for some sort of distraction.

The only ones who did not seem visibly nervous were the few Kul Tiran sailors manning the deck, the diverse cast of Horde guard detail; Forsaken, Orcish, and Elvish alike, a few of Sylvanas’ dark rangers, and Nokrogroa, who radiated a keenness to stand on still land once more. Nathanos did not accompany them this time. Sylvanas had sent him on a mission to investigate rumors of Naga scouts on the coast of Zandalar; if only to keep him from testing Jaina’s patience.

“Dark Lady.” A voice said, directly behind her. “The guard detail is in place to escort you through the docks.”

Sylvanas nodded once. “Thank you, Anya.”

Anya, ever one to irk Sylvanas at every turn, took it upon herself to continue speaking. “I’m sure your… mother-in-law will be very impressed with how uniform you keep the Horde.”

“Anya…” Sylvanas warned and the ranger finally went silent.

Jaina held back a small titter at the exchange and Sylvanas wondered how she managed to put up with Anya when she was Ranger-General. How had she 

commanded and fought alongside someone so infuriating and insubordinate? 

Sylvanas decided manual labor was an appropriate punishment for the other elf.

Jaina’s sharp inhale beside her shook Sylvanas from her thoughts. The figures that stood onshore now recognizable as Jaina’s mother and two brothers, flanked by a host of Kul Tiran guards, dressed in the green of the Proudmoore Admiralty. Katherine Proudmoore stood ramrod straight, reminiscent of the admiral she was. Her two sons, Tandred, the youngest Proudmoore stood to her left, and Derek, Jaina’s older brother, to her right.

Sylvanas swallowed back the feeling of guilt that rose at the sight of Derek Proudmoore.

Did Jaina resent her for bringing him back?

Before Sylvanas could let that dangerous train of thoughts fester, the ship docked into Boralus, deckhands frantically moving to lower the ramp onto the dock. They walked down the port, chins held high, steps in unison, till they stood directly in front of their greeting party. The guards flanking both groups watched each other uneasily, gripping their various shields and polearms tighter.

Jaina was the first to break the stillness, pulling her arm from Sylvanas’ and surging forward to bring her mother into a warm embrace. Katherine Proudmoore broke away to cup Jaina’s face in her hands. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

Jaina proceeded to ruffle Tandred’s hair, exchanging smiles and endearing words with Derek.

All in all, Sylvanas found the blind trust and unconditional love between the four captivating.

Katherine’s face hardened again as her attention slid towards Sylvanas, stepping in front of the Banshee and glaring down at her. 

Were all Proudmoore women so annoyingly tall?

“Warchief.” Katherine regarded her cooly, offering a hand in greeting.

Instead of shaking the hand, Sylvanas dipped her head and pressed her lips to the back of her hand. “Lady Proudmoore, you are as radiant as ever.”

Katherine yanked her hand back the moment Sylvanas released it. “Thank you, Warchief. If you will follow us to the keep, we will show you which wing you will be staying in.”

Jaina slid back beside Sylvanas and wound their arms together, digging her nails in Sylvanas’ forearm. 

“ _ Behave, _ ” she ground out between gritted teeth.

Sylvanas held her tongue and gave Jaina an awful grin.

The youngest Proudmoore sibling wagged his eyebrows in Jaina’s direction while the oldest visibly held back a snicker.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one of us that grew past fourteen.” Jaina hissed at her two brothers.

“It’s not our fault you’re the middle child.”

“I will freeze you to the cobblestone, Tandred.”

Sylvanas felt a pang of…  _ something _ in her chest. Old memories of her sisters; moments in time where she had a family who loved her. Bickering with her siblings constantly, much to their mother’s exasperation. Sylvanas was sure she was the direct cause of a few of Lireesa Windrunner’s gray hairs, if not Vereesa. The youngest Windrunner sister had Sylvanas convinced that baby sisters could force themselves to cry on command. And Lirath. The light of the Windrunner family. Her little brother didn’t go anywhere without some sort of instrument, whipping up some short melodies for them to create their own lyrics for.

Katherine’s sharp voice cut the moment Derek put Tandred into a headlock, to Jaina’s infinite amusement. “Derek, release your brother now.”

Jaina tried her best to stifle her laugh with her free hand.

“And Jaina,” Katherine turned her head, “Stop enabling your brothers.”

The Lord Admiral looked rather chuffed at being scolded by her mother like she was a child again and fell silent. Before anyone knew it, they were inside Proudmoore Keep and Jaina gave an order to the nearest captain to escort the Horde guards to the barracks. Nokrogroa regarded the escorts suspiciously before giving a bow to Sylvanas and Jaina, following the rest of the security detail to his new room.

“Come on,” Jaina said, giving Sylvanas’ arm a tug, “I’ll show you the wing where we’ll be staying.”

Tandred gave a whistle, only to be cut off by an elbow to the ribs from Derek. Katherine gave a sidelong glance at her sons before turning to Jaina. “Dinner is in two hours.”

—-

The few guards manning the halls of the western wing snapped to attention at the sight of the Lord Admiral and gave wary (and very obvious) stares to Sylvanas, who seemed to fall into a pensive silence.

Jaina could only hope to guess what Sylvanas was thinking.

“Is Boralus to your liking, Warchief?” Jaina asked, bringing Sylvanas to the door at the end of the hall that was to be their bedroom.

“Your ships are rather impressive. I care very little for Kul Tiran architecture, however.”

Jaina released her arm and held the door open for Sylvanas to step through. “We can’t all be as grandiose and snobbish as elves.”

Sylvanas, for once, did not rise to the bait. Odd, Jaina thought, Sylvanas was never one to miss out on an opportunity for banter.

The bedroom was spacious, the bed practically sized for a king - or a Lord Admiral. Two desks sat on opposite sides of the room and a closet larger than most tavern rooms was built into the wall. Above the bed, hung a mural of a battleship warring with a kraken.

“Jaina.”

Jaina turned around to give Sylvanas a remark about the sudden use of her first name to find Sylvanas looking back at her with a distant expression on her face. “Is something wrong?”

“Do you resent me for bringing your brother back to you?”

Jaina let out a long sigh and sat on the bed. “I did.”

Sylvanas broke her gaze and, for the first time, her form visibly shrunk. “I’m sorry.”

“I did resent you. I know you rose him for the purpose of using him against me, but you didn’t. You knew Baine was going to free him and bring him to me, and you let him.” Jaina paused. “I don’t hate you for it anymore. You gave me back my brother and gave him a chance at life again. I missed him dearly, so thank you.”

Guilt crossed Sylvanas’ sharp features and she faced away from Jaina, her ears wilting. “I was fully intent on killing Baine for his betrayal. The last thing you should do is thank me.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Sylvanas let out an unneeded breath. “Because I grew tired of fighting. Of cutthroat tactics and war. I promised to ensure the Forsaken’s, and by extent, the Horde’s survival. The constant fighting between our factions, while there were greater threats who would take advantage of that, would make it so none of us survived. Horde or Alliance. I am sorry for the pain and suffering I caused. I never wanted it to be this way.”

Jaina watched Sylvanas from the bed for a moment before standing up and embracing Sylvanas, her chest pressed against the banshee’s back. Sylvanas stiffened at the contact which only made Jaina hold onto her tighter. 

“I never wanted it to be this way either.” Jaina’s voice was muffled against the leather of Sylvanas’ armor. 

Sylvanas brought her hands up to hold onto Jaina’s arms around her chest, and for a long time, they stood there in that tight embrace. No more words passed between them, but the silent understanding radiated. Reluctantly, Jaina unwound her arms from Sylvanas and stepped back. Sylvanas wordlessly turned and reached her hand up to cup Jaina’s cheek, an emotion that was incredibly similar to fondness shining in her red eyes. 

A knock on the door broke them out of their spell and Sylvanas took a noticeable step backwards.

“Lady Proudmoore,” a voice spoke out and Jaina recognized that echoey deep voice anywhere.

“Come in, Nokrogroa.”

The door opened, but the death knight remained in the doorway. “I was told to inform you that dinner is ready.”

Jaina shot a glance towards Sylvanas who adopted her cold mask once again. “Shall we, Proudmoore?” Sylvanas asked, offering her arm.

Jaina frowned at how quickly she had redonned the guise of the Warchief. It was a shame - they were both making steady progress in their relationship and Jaina felt a twinge of emotion that she tried to stomp down.

Jaina took the offered arm and smiled at Nokrogroa. “Thank you for letting us know.”

Nokrogroa gave her a bow and moved out of the doorway so they could step through. Shadowing them as he has always done.

While disappointed at how short it lasted, Jaina held a mental celebration at the progress she had regarding Sylvanas opening up around her. Perhaps this marriage wouldn’t be so miserable after all.

Remembering something, Jaina looked over her shoulder at her personal guard, and she let the inner Lord Admiral take over. “We need to have words later, Champion.”

Per usual, the death knight showed no reaction. “Of course, my queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was laughing for nearly an hour over "Full Mast."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, he's hot. Also Jaina and Sylvanas are adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGL i hate this chapter but here y'all are

_“The Warchief is sending me on a Horde expedition to Northrend.”_ _  
_

_  
_ _A Kaldorei woman’s brows furrowed. “That explains why the human king has been searching for volunteers to sail North.”_

_The other tilted his head curiously. “There have been rumors of the dead stirring up again; in preparation for the return of the Lich King.”_

_“Be sure to return in one piece. I have heard horrific stories of people being taken and risen into elite undead soldiers.” A hand grasped a wrist._

_A toothy grin was given. “I wasn’t aware you cared so much.”_

_“I’m only worried about our daughter. She may wither away if she does not have her father to spoil her.”_

_“I’m sure you will be more than willing to take up my legacy.” The two stepped closer to each other._

_The two voices ceased speaking in Common, and tender words were exchanged in Thalassian and Darnassian. The languages were very similar, but there were still enough differences for neither of them to understand the true nuances of their words._

\---  
  
It had been too long since Jaina had a good mug of Kul Tiran ale. The earthy flavor and strong kick reminded her of when she was only a teenager and snuck some under her parents’ noses. What surprised her was that Tandred could already barely stand without swaying on what was only his second mug of ale. Derek decided not to partake, having only recently discovered that undead needed to drink an obscene amount (around enough to incapacitate a hippogryph) to even feel the effects.   
  


“You know,” Tandred slurred, “I never expected Jaina to actually end up being the first one to be married.”

  
  
Derek’s eyebrows rose. “Why do you say that?”

Tandred set his mug on the table with a resounding thump. “Oh, you didn’t know her then. She was, what you would call, a player.”

“A player, huh? Who would’ve known my baby sister was breaking boys hearts.”

Jaina looked away coyly. “Not just boys.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Oh, really? I shouldn’t be surprised considering you agreed to marry a woman.”

Tandred gave a grin. “Yeah, mom and pops set her up with that Lordaeron prince so she would calm down.”

“And how did that work out?”

A twinge of sadness and regret passed through Jaina at the mention of Arthas. After the conversation she had with Sylvanas regarding Derek, Jaina wondered how Sylvanas felt about her former relationship with Arthas. The man who killed her. “Well, you know how that story ended.” She muttered around a mug of ale.

“Unbelievable that Tandred ended up being the prodigal child out of the three of us.”

Jaina furrowed her brows. “What do you mean? Father thought you were the perfect son, Derek.”

  
  
“I would have been the perfect son too, but Father never liked my choice of romantic partners.”

“Are you…” Jaina trailed off.

“He’s implying his tastes are of the male variety.” Tandred announced after a short battle with hiccups.

Jaina gave Derek an incredulous look. “You told _Tandred_ and not me?”

The youngest Proudmoore drained his mug.

“In retrospect, I thought it was quite obvious.” Derek shrugged.

“No one ever tells me anything.” Jaina muttered, taking a gulp of ale.

Tandred, always one to shift focus randomly, slid his eyes to Nokrogroa who stood guard at the doorway of the common room. “Hey, what’s up with your bodyguard?”

“Nokrogroa?” Jaina followed his gaze to the bulky elf who was doing an impeccable job at minding his own business. “What about him? He’s not doing anything out of the ordinary.”

“He’s just so-” Tandred proceeded to do a series of mocking (and surprisingly accurate) gestures.

Noticing Nokrogroa’s glowing blue glare fall on his younger brother, Derek gently pried Tandred’s hands from his mug. “I think you’ve definitely had enough to drink.”

Tandred, completely unaware of how drunk he was, waved Nokrogroa over. “Join us. We don’t bite. Well, maybe a little.”

When the death knight’s gaze fell to Jaina, she gave a nod. “Have a seat.”

Nokrogroa took a seat on the far end of the couch Jaina was occupying, Derek and Tandred on the opposite couch across the coffee table. He still held on tightly to his polearm as if he was standing guard again. Tandred nearly fell out of his seat trying to get a peek under Nokrogroa’s helmet, a feat not even someone sober could pull off. As usual, the only part of the death knight’s face that was visible was the glow of his eyes. Derek had to pull Tandred back by his collar before the youngest Proudmoore could attempt to pull Nokrogroa’s helmet off.

“So,” Derek spoke while wrangling a very slippery Tandred, “Tell us about yourself… Nokrogroa, was it?”

Nokrogroa gave a short nod. “Aye. Champion of the Horde and honor guard of Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, consort to the Warchief of the Horde, Lord Adm-”

Jaina coughed before he could finish dropping her cacophony of titles. “I think Derek meant for you to tell us about your personal life.”

Nokrogroa’s hand tightened on his polearm. “I am unsure of what you mean, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Take off your helmet!” Tandred shouted before Derek could slap a hand over his mouth.

Jaina looked over to Nokrogroa to give him an apologetic look. “Don’t mind him. You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

Nokrogroa’s gloved hands flexed on the haft of his polearm while he seemingly debated with himself. Jaina was very aware that she had never actually seen his full face in the few months she had known him. Just the icey glow of his eyes underneath a heavy hood and a helmet. She stifled the urge to join in with Tandred’s muffled chants telling him to remove it. Before she knew it, Nokrogroa was moving his hand up to slide his ears out of his hood and pull it down, reaching for his helmet next.

Derek faltered in his attempted confinement of Tandred and let curiosity overtake him. The other brother stopped wiggling in his grip and donned a transfixed look.

Nokrogroa began pulling off his helmet and the first thing Jaina noticed protruding from his bottom lip were… Orcish fangs? Suddenly, she was very aware of every gesture he did, every movement he made. His manner. His size. His accent. The bluish-green tint of his skin. Everything about him suddenly bleeded Orc. His face was much narrower and his features much sharper, however, still structured in a very elvish way. While much more massive than any elf Jaina had ever known, including any night elf, he was smaller than most orcs. His brows were flat, short, and did not flare out from his head like all other elves. His ears had jagged, faint scars near the middle of them, indicating some sort of stitching had happened there.

“Well,” Tandred said finally. “Not what I was expecting.”

Derek just nodded in response.

Nokrogroa glanced at Jaina, giving her his signature head tilt, his expression disarmingly gentle. “Are you feeling alright, my lady?”

Jaina was suddenly keenly aware of her mouth hanging open. “Yes, I suppose I am just a little surprised.”

A glazed look fell over his face for a moment before it hardened. “You may ask what you wish, Lord Admiral.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind.” He gave her a small smile around his teeth. “It is a very freeing experience to be able to fully be yourself.”

Jaina had told him out of annoyance and spite that he was much different than most elves she knew. She could’ve slapped herself if she had the means to time travel at this moment. (Unfortunately, most members of the Bronze Dragonflight were rather unreachable as of late.) Of course he would react the way that he did, with unfiltered, raw emotion. Nathanos had called him a half-breed. He was visibly upset at Orcs being called savages. It was right in front of Jaina’s nose and she was too busy wading in her own misery to notice.

“Your parents…” Jaina trailed off.

“My mother was a high elf and my father was an orc.”

“Wonder how that happened.” Tandred not so subtly whispered in his older brother’s ear. Jaina buried her face in her palm.

Derek shoved Tandred out of his personal space. “Maybe you should ask him.”

Tandred turned to Nokrogroa who had his hand up, prepared to answer. “My father saw through the lies of the demons and refused to participate with the Legion’s attempts to use the Orcs to conquer Azeroth. He spent a large majority of the Second War hiding in the forests of Quel’Thalas only to be found by my mother. An elven ranger.”

Tandred, let out a gasp of realization, his completely drained mug clattering to the floor. “Sylvanas is your mother?”

Nokrogroa gave Tandred a guarded look. “The Warchief is not my mother, Lord Proudmoore. However, she did know her.”

“That’s why she mentioned knowing you since you were young,” Jaina muttered to herself, connecting the dots.

Nokrogroa gave her another one of his simple nods and continued. “My mother died from illness when I was only five winters, and my father was butchered by a human hunting party when I reached eight winters. They brought me to an internment camp.”

A wave of nausea flooded Jaina and she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t because of the alcohol. As much as the Alliance wanted to seem as if they were on the righteous high ground, they had an extensive relationship with the concept of moral ambiguity. She thought of the stories Go’el told her about his upbringing in the Durnholde internment camp. How cruel Blackmoore was in raising him as a weapon. She could hardly imagine how terrible it had been for the Orcs who only knew the horrifics of humans.

“They cropped my ears so I would blend in easier with the other orcs. I recovered them… hanging like some sort of trophy, in one of the guard’s houses.”

The common room in Proudmoore Keep fell crushingly silent. Even Tandred seemed to sober up considerably at Nokrogroa’s story. Derek, a veteran of the Second War, looked away, guilt falling over his face. 

Nokrogroa pulled his helmet back on and guided his ears through the holes on his hood. Returning to his place guarding the door, his body took on the unnatural stillness of undeath once again. “And now you know my secret.”

\---

Sylvanas set down her quill and turned in her seat moments before Jaina stumbled through the door, reeking of ale. “I sincerely hope you drank water as well, wife.”

Jaina said nothing in return and just collapsed face down onto the bed, letting out a large sigh. Sylvanas crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, watching Jaina for a moment. The mage let out a single hiccup, drawing Sylvanas from her seat to her wife’s side.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t vomit all over the bed, Proudmoore.” Sylvanas drawled.

Jaina turned her head to get a look at Sylvanas, eyes squinting to focus on the blurry figure of the banshee. It was all rather adorable. Sylvanas frowned at that thought and folded her arms around her back. Jaina weakly patted the bed beside her.

“C’mere.”

Sylvanas ears perked up, frown deepening. She tried not to let that excited feeling she had long forgotten linger at the thought of Jaina wanting any sort of affection from her. She was no longer the living, warm Ranger-General that she was. The one who was liberal with her hugs friendly with her tone. She was Warchief and Queen of the Forsaken. Alleria had called her a twisted mockery of her sister and, despite the harshness of her tone, was completely correct. Death had changed her. Made her colder, crueller, and far more reserved.

“‘Vanas…” Jaina whined, and Sylvanas felt a pang in her still heart at the nickname. Sylvanas obliged with Jaina’s command and laid down on her back, leaving a few inches of distance to prevent contact.

Shuffling into Sylvanas’ personal space, the mage took a hold of the cold arm again and rested her head on her shoulder. “For someone so lean and muscular, you’re pretty comfy.”

Sylvanas tried not to think about how Jaina’s voice sounded when she slipped into her Kul Tiran accent. Tried not to think about how warm her wife felt pressed against her. Jaina was definitely drunk, because Sylvanas knew she wouldn’t be caught dead cuddling up to her. Rubbing the Warchief’s arm with her thumb lightly.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Proudmoore?”

“Jaina.” The voice was muffled by Sylvanas’ shoulder. “Call me Jaina, please.”

“Jaina.” Sylvanas conceded. “Are you positive you’re feeling alright?”

Jaina gave a noise of affirmation. “Nokrogroa told me his whole bloody backstory. And that you knew his mother.”

“I did. She was one of my rangers.”

Jaina hummed and scooted closer to Sylvanas. The Warchief unwilling to admit to herself she missed this closeness. “His life was full of so much horrible shit. I see what you mean about the misery bit.”

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows at Jaina’s sudden use of less than graceful language. “I think the Kul Tiran in you is showing, Jaina.”

Jaina let out a low chuckle. “Once a sailor; always a sailor.”

“I am glad Nokrogroa was willing to open up to you. I dare say he’s become rather fond of you. Should I be jealous?”

“Fuck off.” Jaina mumbled, and Sylvanas could feel the grin pressed against her. “He’s more like an overgrown puppy.”

“Such language.” Sylvanas admonished. “He’s only ever had eyes for one woman.”

Jaina's eyes opened and she searched Sylvanas’ face for more information.

Sylvanas let her smile grow. “So, he didn’t tell you? About his lover and their daughter?”

“No?”

“Then it is not my place to discuss them.”

“Always some new mystery.” Jaina muttered as she threw her leg over one of Sylvanas’, fully pressing up against the banshee’s side now and slid her arm around her waist. “I’m too tired for this.”

Sylvanas brought up her only free arm to stroke the white locks of Jaina’s hair, lulling the Lord Admiral to sleep. She could allow these feelings of ‘fondness’ to deepen. These _dalliances_ to happen. Just for tonight. Just for her wife’s sake.

—-

Jaina awoke again to the smell of flowers and steel. This time, her face wasn’t pressed against the empty sheets of the bed. Instead, she was pressed against a shoulder, completely wound over another body. An unnaturally still body that had warmed up from her body heat. 

Jaina’s eyes widened and she pushed away from Sylvanas, wincing at how her head was pounding.

“Welcome to reality, Lord Admiral.” Sylvanas said, giving her a smirk.

Jaina searched her mind for the events of last night. Memories flooding back to her full force at the expense of an increased dull pounding in her head. “Oh, Tides. I’m never drinking again.”

Sylvanas turned on her side, chin in hand. “At least you managed to refrain from salivating on me.”

Jaina threw her head back onto her pillow and let out a groan. “I’m too hungover for your biting wit.”

“It’s not morning yet; you have a few more hours to sleep.” Jaina could’ve sworn Sylvanas’ voice was almost caring, Soft.

Jaina turned onto her side, getting comfortable. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

When Sylvanas stood from the bed, it felt noticeably emptier. And Jaina could barely stop the loneliness that rushed in to feel the gap. She gripped her pillow tighter, hating herself for being so incredibly touch starved that she wanted the banshee to hold her. Jaina warred with herself in her head; risking Sylvanas using this as blackmail and asking the Warchief to stay or remain awake, miserable because she was afraid to admit the presence of Sylvanas drove the nightmares away.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina said, nervousness creeping in her voice. “Can you stay?”

Sylvanas froze halfway to the door, seemingly in her own internal battle with her thoughts. Eventually, one of those thoughts won out as she turned to face Jaina, an emotion Jaina didn’t have the strength to recognize shining in her eyes. “Are you sure, Proudmoore? I will leave if at any moment you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure.” That was all Sylvanas needed to make her way to the other side of the bed, and slowly, cautiously climbed on. As if she was afraid of scaring Jaina off. Sylvanas settled on the opposite side and Jaina became aware of the banshee’s glare burning through the back of her head.

Jaina reached her hand behind her and gestured for Sylvanas to come closer. 

“Proudmoore-“

“You have my permission. Come here.”

Sylvanas fell silent and moved closer to the mage, draping her arm across her abdomen lightly. Jaina was very conscious of the space Sylvanas left between them so that their bodies wouldn’t press together. 

Jaina grabbed Sylvanas arm and pulled lightly. “Please.”

Sylvanas scooted closer, her chest fully pressing into the Lord Admiral’s back now and tightened her arm around the abdomen. “Like this?”

“Just like that.” Jaina mumbled. Sylvanas was, at first, a cool weight pressed against her, but she eventually siphoned enough of the mage’s body heat to match her temperature. Jaina, for the first time in years, felt safe and content in another’s arms. Her eyes opened when she felt Sylvanas tighten around her.

“My apologies. It’s been years since I had been so close to someone.”

Jaina’s mind flashed to the various flings and few nights she had with others. Very few stayed long enough for this level of intimacy. “It does help keep the nightmares away.”

“Perhaps it would be mutually beneficial to us both if we allowed this every night?” Sylvanas asked, her tone suddenly businesslike. “There would need to be a sizable amount of discretion involved. I’m confident a select few members of the Alliance would react rather violently if they discovered I had physically touched you.”

“You can say Genn. It’s okay.” Jaina mumbled, a tired smile spreading across her face. “I don’t mind if you don’t, Warchief.”

Sylvanas huffed in amusement. “Call me Sylvanas.”

“Only if you call me Jaina.”

Sylvanas pressed closer to Jaina. “You asked me to do that while you were very intoxicated.”

“Well, intoxicated Jaina was onto something there.”

“You also spoke in a very prominent Kul Tiran accent.”

Jaina stiffened. “I would like it very much if you pretended that never happened.”

Sylvanas’ free hand toyed with a lock of Jaina’s hair. “Whatever you say. Goodnight, Jaina.”

Jaina let out a quiet ‘Goodnight, Sylvanas’ before falling into a very deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas likes cuddling. Katherine doesn't like Sylvanas. Nokrogroa has even more secrets. Thrall shows up and stupidity ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi don't hate me

For the next few weeks, the Lord Admiral had become exponentially affectionate around the Warchief. Sylvanas loathed to admit to herself, that she actually enjoyed it. Relished in it. Unconsciously sought it. Sylvanas kept her own affections small in number, and reserved only when they were alone together. The weight of her hand pressed against Jaina’s shoulder when she caught the mage working herself to utter exhaustion once again. Tucking Jaina’s hair behind her ear when they faced each other. Rubbing her thumb against her upper arm to calm her whenever she was upset. Sylvanas’ examples of affection were far more reserved than her wife’s.

The mage had taken it upon herself to actually  _ hold _ Sylvanas’ hand whenever she had the chance, and, as much as it irritated the banshee, she found herself enjoying the warmth Jaina’s palm gave off. The arcane thrumming off her soft skin. Not as much as she reluctantly enjoyed the warmth of the embraces and genuine smiles Jaina gave her way. She had grown even more bold, as of the past week, showing Sylvanas a tender fondness, even outside of their own privacy. Lacing their fingers together when they  walked side by side throughout the halls of the keep. Hugging her tightly when they needed to say goodbyes. Sylvanas didn’t have the heart to pull away from Jaina despite the piercing, uncomfortable glares she received from the other Proudmoores. And the Lord Admiral’s smile was far too beautiful for the Warchief to deny her.

Sylvanas’ quill snapped in half in her hand. Feelings of dismay and disgust rose when she realized the thoughts she was having of the Jaina began to bleed into the realm of dangerous reverence. This was Jaina Proudmoore. Her former enemy. Someone she had to keep emotional distance from in case war between their factions sparked back to life and the treaty fell apart. It wouldn’t do if Jaina discovered a way to exploit her petty weakness - her  _ soft spot _ had begun to grow for Jaina. To her utter alarm, Sylvanas had found she was not very opposed to Jaina knowing her so intimately; being so emotionally attached to her. Proudmoore had this uncanny ability to bring visible, unguarded emotion out of her that wasn’t anger or hatred. She dimly wondered if Jaina was even aware of the effect she had on her. Of how Sylvanas’ thoughts constantly drew to her whenever the banshee was trying to work.

The subject of her irritation (and fondness) came up behind her chair and began toying with her long ear. 

“Proudmoore…” Sylvanas warned, though her ear twitched towards the touch.

"Sylvanas," Jaina’s hand dropped from the ear, falling onto the banshee’s upper arm. “Didn’t I tell you to call me by my first name?”

Was she actually  _ flirting _ with her?

Sylvanas' grip on the broken quill tightened and she hated herself for leaning into Jaina’s touch. “ _ Jaina _ ,” she said as sweetly as she could muster, “Is there a point to you interrupting my work?”

Jaina squeezed the lean, but muscular bicep lightly, then finally stepped back. “I just wanted you to know I’m leaving to take a bath.”

Sylvanas found herself missing the contact almost immediately, her ear drooped a minuscule amount, betraying her disappointment at the sudden loss of warmth.

“And take a break from work for once. You’re almost as bad as me.” Jaina demanded, before disappearing behind the door to the bath chamber.

“Funny coming from you, Jaina.” Sylvanas muttered to herself.

The quill she had been holding had practically ground into dust in her strong grip. Letting it fall from her grasp, she rested her chin on her hand and stared at the door her wife had gone through. If her heart could still beat, it would be racing. She was acting like she did in her youth. Like Ranger-Initiate with a rather large ‘crush’ on another in her unit. Perhaps a walk would clear her mind.

Nokrogroa was waiting outside of the bedroom door. “My Queen.”

Sylvanas observed him for a brief moment. His armor was recently scrubbed clean, having only just returned from the coast of Stormsong Valley covered in Naga entrails in blood. Azshara was getting bolder; moving her forces and scouts farther inland.

“Champion,” Sylvanas started walking ahead of him with her hands clasped behind her back. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t have to see his face to know the confused expression he probably was giving her. “But, Lady Proudmoore-“

“Will be fine. She is more than capable of taking care of herself for a short period of time.”

Nokrogroa reluctantly left his post and followed her.

“Did you enjoy yourself while butchering those Naga in Stormsong?” Sylvanas mused.

“Aye, Dark Lady. It is in my nature to enjoy such things.”

“Yes, Arthas was rather cruel in that regard, wasn’t he?” Sylvanas stopped at one of the large, glass windows of Proudmoore Keep, overlooking the city of Boralus. “And now inflicting suffering is one of our only outlets. Perhaps that is the only joy in this curse.”

“Even our small pleasures can be curses, my Queen. If I was still living, I would be rather disgusted with myself for being able to maim and kill so readily.”

Sylvanas gave a sidelong glance at Nokrogroa. “I see you’ve inherited your mother’s philosophical mindset.”

Nokrogroa gave her a head tilt. “I can only hope I’ve passed on her philosophies to a younger generation.”

That’s right. He was a father.

She turned towards Nokrogroa and glanced up at him with an authoritative expression. The sight was rather comical considering how he dwarfed her in comparison. “I am planning a summit for many representatives of the Alliance and Horde. Obviously, you shall be attending to guard the Lord Admiral. The High Priestess shall bring her chosen champion as well.”

“My queen-“

“You were formerly acquaintanced with her Champion, were you not? In fact, you share a child with her.”

Nokrogroa’s hand tightened on his polearm. “Yes, my Queen. However, I have not seen her or our daughter in twelve years.”

“How old is your daughter, Nokrogroa?”

“Aurolis will have lived fifteen years after this autumn.”

Sylvanas hummed to herself and turned back to the window. “I see you have given her your mother’s name.”

“She took after her, my Queen.”

“Ranger Aurolis was a rather striking woman, wasn’t she?” Sylvanas mused to herself.

Nokrogroa gave no response.

“You are dismissed, Champion.” 

Nokrogroa stood there for a few more seconds, before giving Sylvanas a bow. “Thank you for the opportunity to reconnect with my family, Dark Lady.”

The death knight’s footsteps retreated back through the halls of the keep, and Sylvanas remained in front of the window, lost in her own thought.

It felt like it had been merely a few years since that young Nokrogroa’s mother had come to her when Sylvanas served as Ranger-General in life. Since she had given Sylvanas hundreds of apologies for falling for their enemy. An orc. Since she had discharged the Aurolis so that she could raise her son alongside the orc. Nokrogroa had only a few years with his mother until she was taken by that incurable, wasting illness. A small modicum of guilt roiled through her. Did Nokrogroa blame Sylvanas for not being there when his father was killed and he was taken as a slave? 

Nokrogroa didn’t seem to resent her. Although, his face usually hidden by that heavy, dark helm, he didn’t seem to feel much at all. His tone stayed emotionless and nearly monotone. His ears rarely betrayed his emotion. The only emotion she has seen with regularity out of him was curiosity; and he seemed to express eagerness to do his duty at times. Following every order and command by the letter, like the soldier he was. Nokrogroa did not question her when she ordered Teldrassil to be burned, but she wondered what he had thought of her in that moment.

“Warchief.”

She snapped out of her thoughts and turned her head to the figure of Katherine Proudmoore standing at the end of the hall. Sylvanas cursed herself quietly for being so lost in thought, she had let someone get close enough to catch her unawares. Someone who had motivation to end her life for good. “Lady Proudmoore.”

Katherine stood in a coat befitting for the Admiral she was. Alongside the lines of age on her face, Sylvanas could see the softer features Jaina’s mother had gifted to her. Was Jaina aware of how much she took after her mother? The silky hair. The solid build. The tall stature.

“I was on my way to see my daughter. I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

It was true. Sylvanas preferred to spend a majority of her days in the training yards shaping up her Dark Rangers for battle at a moments notice. The rare moments in which she remained inside the keep was reserved for working on paperwork alongside her wife.

Sylvanas tilted her head. “Jaina is currently in the bath chambers. I fear she will not be out in a while.”

Katherine stepped beside Sylvanas, regarding the banshee suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. “I dare say, you and my daughter have gotten rather friendly with each other lately. The two of you have even progressed to the use of first names.”

“The Lord Admiral and I have decided it would be more beneficial to both of us if we were to get along.”

“One can only wonder how intimate this ‘getting along’ has become.”

Sylvanas face hardened and her ear twitched with ire. “I don’t mean to offend Lady Proudmoore, but I don’t believe that is any of your business.”

“It becomes my business when Jaina is involved. It’s only a matter of time before you turn on her,” Katherine shot back.

“Why do so many of you Alliance bootlickers believe I would hurt my own wife?” Sylvanas ground out, baring her fangs.

Katherine was not threatened, instead, looking down at Sylvanas. “Because you are a manipulator and a murderer. I wouldn’t put it past you to use my daughter for your own sick agenda.”

The words pierced her almost as painfully as Frostmourne did all those years ago. As biting as Katherine’s words were, they were right. She was a murderer. She was a manipulator. Sylvanas couldn't bear to continue looking at Katherine; all she could see was Jaina's face in her features. The same stormy blue that Jaina had in her own eyes was looking through her with contempt, not fondness. Katherine did not believe Sylvanas deserved to be with her daughter, and the banshee reluctantly agreed. She would never show just how much Katherine’s words had affected her, however. She had to remain strong. Unwavering.

She let out an unneeded sigh through her nose, stretching unused lungs. “Lady Proudmoore, I can assure you that your daughter shall have no trouble protecting herself from me, should the need ever arise.”

Katherine’s glare softened just a tad. “She lets too much of her guard down around you.”

“If it’s any consolation, Jaina could level half of Kul’Tiras if she desired.” Sylvanas gave a small bow and turned toward the direction of the bedroom. “As much as I want to enjoy this  _ riveting  _ conversation, I must take my leave.”

Katherine’s back straightened. “Good evening, Warchief.”

“Good evening, Lady Proudmoore.”

—-

The next monthly meeting took place in the council room of Proudmoore Keep; Jaina silently thanked the Tides another heated argument hadn’t broken out like it did just a month ago in Dalaran.

What she didn’t appreciate was the fact that Nathanos had once again attended. Naturally, he had greeted Jaina (and Nokrogroa) with thinly veiled insults all while pandering to Sylvanas all in the same breath. The death knight had elected to remain standing guard outside of the large doors of the chambers, giving a icy glare at the Ranger-Lord who had shoved past him. 

Sylvanas seemed to sense her irritation at Blightcaller’s presence and had offered her a comforting hand on the small of Jaina’s back while directing her to her seat. The gesture had worked wonders for Jaina’s mood, giving her the strength to make it through the tense atmosphere of the meeting.

“As Lord Admiral of Kul’Tiras, I’d like to welcome you all to the city of Boralus.” She had finally spoken, when everyone had settled in their seats.

Go’el gave her a polite smile. “It is an honor to visit your ancestral home, Lady Proudmoore.”

There had been a large number of rumors, eerily similar to the ones between her and Vereesa, circulating around Alliance and Horde about her relationship with the former Warchief. Especially before the atrocities Garrosh Hellscream has committed at Theramore. She felt Sylvanas stiffen beside her and wondered what the banshee had thought of them. Was she surprised? Envious? 

Did she even feel such petty emotions anymore?

Jaina shook the thoughts from her head and continued. “I suppose we shall get to the matter at hand. Azshara’s forces have been stirring on the shores of major cities. I fear she is planning to strike soon.”

Queen Talanji of Zandalar nodded. “There have been a number of skirmishes between my forces and the Naga on the coast of Zuldazar.” 

“Lordaeron has been affected too.” Jaina suppressed an eye roll when Nathanos began to speak. “I have personally foreseen culling of Naga scouts reaching inland as far as Tirisfal Glades.”

“I fear we may be forced to integrate our armies sooner rather than later.” Anduin sighed. “Lest we become overtaken by Azshara’s forces so easily.”

Feelings of anxiety rose in Jaina and she reached for Sylvanas’ hand under the table. They were all still licking their wounds from the war between the factions that had only just ended. Many were still healing, and some cities were still rationing supplies. Azshara could wipe them all out given the right chance.

“Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas drawled at a volume far below the voices of the others around the table. “Do you remember that discussion we had?”

“Are you referring to the one about discretion?” Jaina gave the cold hand a subtle squeeze.

“That one.” Sylvanas chided quietly. “I don’t believe this meeting would be very productive if a bloodbath happened to ensue.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Shush, I doubt anyone even notices.”

Sylvanas gave a pointed glance at the table, lingering on the glares she was currently receiving from Genn Greymane and her sisters. “I beg to differ.”

“They can get over it.” Jaina rubbed her thumb along Sylvanas’ knuckles, causing the Banshee Queen’s ear to twitch imperceptibly. “And if they try anything, they’ll be frozen in an ice block before you can blink.”

Sylvanas elected not to respond after she saw the pleading expression on Jaina’s face.

“How has Kul’Tiras faired?” Anduin directed the question at Jaina. “I would assume you’ve had your fair share of Naga all along the island.”

Sylvanas answered in her stead, and for once, Jaina didn’t mind. “Despite a few encounters with scouts along the shores of Stormsong, it has been suspiciously quiet, High King.”

Jaina mentally thanked the Tidemother Sylvanas had kept her snide attitude to herself.

“That is very concerning, Dark Lady.” Lor’themar Theron sighed. “I can only hope that Azshara isn’t planning on attacking in full force when you are least expecting it.”

Jaina‘s brows furrowed. The Regent Lord of Silvermoon had a point. Azshara was a rather intelligent military tactician. Thousands of years of practice and the assistance of an Old God had made her cunning and ruthless. “Indeed. We must be wary of further movements of her forces. If only to see if there is a pattern.”

Jaina squeezed the banshee’s hand tighter, only vaguely aware of the calming squeeze she received in return.

—-

When Jaina had finally filed out of the council room, she caught sight of Go’el waiting for her. Nokrogroa had fallen in step behind her almost immediately as she approached her old friend. “It’s been a very long time since we’ve been able to speak peacefully.”

Go’el gave her a polite smile, a tremor of sadness marring it. “Far too long, Jaina.”

Jaina let out a shaky sigh. “I apologize for… honestly everything. I blamed you for Theramore even though you had no part in it. I blamed everyone for Theramore, when I should have been blaming Garrosh alone for his crimes.”

Go’el put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I forgive you. Some of the blame was on me for passing the Horde to him. He had more of his father in him than I realized.”

“We both have a lot of unspoken regret, don't we?” The meaning of her words were not lost on the orc.

Jaina heard the death knight behind her shift subtly. Nor lost on Nokrogroa. She wondered how much anyone knew about the extent of their relationship. Former relationship.

Go’el looked behind her and caught sight of her guard. “Nokrogroa, it’s been too long since we’ve last seen each other.”

“Earth-Warder Thrall, it is a pleasure as always.” Nokrogroa replied, giving him an Orcish salute.

Go’el looked back at Jaina. “I see you’ve been given an excellent honor guard, Jaina. Nokrogroa was formerly one of the shamans of the Horde.”

“You were a shaman?” Jaina asked, turning to Nokrogora.

“I was until my… unfortunate death in Northrend. Earth-Warder Thrall taught me everything I knew.”

Go’el waved off the title. “Enough of that Earth-Warder nonsense. I lost my rights to that title.”

Nokrogroa tilted his head with an unspoken question, but simply affirmed Thrall’s request. “As you wish, Thrall.”

Go’el brought his attention back to Jaina. “You're in good hands. Did the Warchief assign him to you?”

Jaina nodded. 

“Then I feel a little better about your… arrangement. It seems Sylvanas may actually harbor some sentiment for you.”

“Besides the usual snide attitude, she’s been shockingly tolerable. I’m sure it’s killing her inside.”

Go’el chortled quietly to himself then flashed her a concerned look. “The Warchief is also a brilliant tactician. I advise you to be careful, Jaina.”

\---

“I see you and the former Warchief are back to getting along in earnest.” 

Jaina froze, her brush halfway through her blonde lock. “Why is that any of your concern?”

Sylvanas wasn’t sure what made her voice her next thought. “I dearly hope you don’t have any plans to rekindle your old  _ relations _ . I would prefer if you didn’t begin any extracurricular dalliances, lest the world ends up in war again.”

Jaina set down her brush far calmer than normal. “Of course you would go and ruin it,” she muttered.

“What do you mean?” Sylvanas asked in fake innocence.

Jaina turned to face where, anger showing in her eyes. If Sylvanas didn’t feel the need to constantly keep up appearances for her own vanity, she might’ve gulped. “The fact that you believe I would even do such a thing is frankly  _ very _ insulting.”

Sylvanas felt a pang in her still heart. She didn’t believe Jaina would be the type to be unfaithful, of course. But once again Sylvanas’ awful jealous streak she possessed in her youth warred with her common sense. And won. She was never one to admit defeat, however. Never one to concede; not even to the woman she was married to. Sylvanas hated herself for what she said next.

“What should I believe, Proudmoore? You had quite the reputation as an apprentice mage in Dalaran.”

Jaina looked at her in disbelief. “Are you fucking serious? All of that was years ago. And Vereesa told me all about you,  _ Ranger-General.  _ You have quite the extensive history around the women of Quel’Thalas.”

The red glow in Sylvanas eyes narrowed. “Vereesa? Do I need to worry about my own sister as well as the former Warchief? You’re collecting lovers in droves.”

Jaina’s glare stayed unwavering as Sylvanas rose to her feet. “Do I need to worry about Blightcaller? Or any of your Dark Rangers?”

Sylvanas stalked towards the door. “You know nothing of me or my past, Proudmoore.”

“And you know nothing of mine, Windrunner.”

Sylvanas slammed the door behind her, nearly yanking it off its hinges. She was secretly grateful Nokrogroa had retired to the barracks for the evening.

The look of contempt on Jaina’s face was far more painful than any of the torture she endured from Arthas. At that realization, Sylvanas was glad she could no longer cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ten points if you can guess the Community reference


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas and Jaina still suck at communicating. Anya gives decent advice. Nathanos is racist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, there I go adding another OC who is practically a self insert again. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter.

Being an island, Kul’Tiras was subject to a frequent number of rain showers. They varied from light drizzling and a gentle breeze to deafening crackles of thunder accompanied by hard pelting of icy rain. Jaina loved all of it. The smell of rain. The freezing chill. Standing outside just for a few moments only to get utterly soaked to the bone. Her parents always warned her she would get sick one of these days when she was a child; but she never did. She preferred the sharp sting of cold rain to any other weather Kul’Tiras offered. Perhaps that was indicative of the wielder of frost magic she would become. Unfortunately, this ‘rain shower’ was just a light drizzle.

And unfortunately she had to spend this day on horseback, alongside her wife who she hadn’t spoken a word to since their confrontation four days ago. The things Sylvanas said to her - insinuated about her had made Jaina incredibly irritable as of late. Thankfully, Sylvanas kept from goading her any further, electing to stay as far away from Jaina as much as possible without straining the treaty any further. Jaina was ashamed to admit she missed the small comfort Sylvanas’ presence around her, but how Sylvanas acted was awful and unforgivable. She’d live.

Nokrogroa rode behind her and she could feel his cold gaze boring into the back of her head. He seemed very aware of the fact she and Sylvanas had gotten into an argument, despite not being present outside of the door that night. The death knight elected to stay silent about the situation; one thing about him Jaina was ever grateful for. One of his most defining and redeemable traits was his ability to stay out of things that didn’t involve him, but even that bit of his personality did nothing to sate his apparent curiosity.

One of Sylvanas’ many Dark Rangers - Anya - rode up beside her, a wide smile plastered on her face. “I must say, Lord Admiral, you cut quite the figure on top of a horse.”

Jaina was certain she could hear Sylvanas’ eyes roll from far behind her. “Um, thank… you?”

“The Dark Lady is a very lucky woman to have the pleasure of being wedded to you.”

Jaina looked towards Nokrogroa for any form of help or explanation, but he only flicked his icy gaze away, muttering something about having a reason to leave.

He slowed down the trot of his horse and fell in pace directly behind Sylvanas.

Anya gave her a cheeky grin, showing a little bit of elvish fang. “You better be careful, Lord Admiral. There are many who would do nearly anything to see themselves in your position.” She gave a pointed glance over her shoulder towards Nathanos’ who was currently glaring at Jaina with unbridled hatred.

If looks could kill, Jaina would be dead hundreds of times over.

“And there are many who would prefer to be in the Warchief’s shoes. I’m aware of this, Dark Ranger.” Jaina idly wiped droplets of rain off of her face. “What is your point?”

“Precisely, Lord Admiral; that is the reason why the Dark Lady reacts the way she does.” Anya whispered conspiratorially.

Jaina squinted in Anya’s direction, “What do you mean-”

“She always had the most awful relationship with envy. Far before she was even Ranger-General of Silvermoon.”

“How are you even aware of what happened between us?” Jaina demanded, her grip on her reins tightening.

Anya gave her a look. “Living or dead, I am a ranger, Lord Admiral. There is a reason you don’t see me outside of formal events and training. The Dark Rangers are always waiting; watching from the shadows. It’s what we were trained for.”

“That’s a very elaborate way of saying you spied on us.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t there that night, although Velonara and Kalira did a very dramatic retelling of it in the Dark Ranger quarters.”

Jaina groaned. “So, almost everyone knows about it?”

“Well,” Anya said, coyly, “I wouldn’t say _everyone_. Maybe just the Dark Rangers, Nathanos, Nokrogroa, various other Horde champions, a few Alliance champions, a majority of Alliance and Horde lead-“

“Just say everyone knows. It’s less of a mouthful.”

“You think gossip like this is bad? Just wait until you two kiss or end up… copulating.”

“ _Copulating-”_ Jaina sputtered.

Anya didn’t let Jaina finish her sentence. “As I was saying, the Warchief has always had a complicated relationship with jealousy. It’s her one great vice she carried past her death. She says and does a lot of things she doesn’t mean and then comes crying to us for it.”

“That ‘us’ being the Dark Rangers?”

“Anya,” Sylvanas’ voice spoke up behind them, her tone sickeningly sweet, but Jaina could hear the venom in her words. “Would you join me? I would like to have some words with you.”

“Uh oh,” Anya gave Jaina one last look full of mirth. “I think I’m in trouble again.”

All Jaina heard when Anya slowed her horse was a string of Thalassian curses directed at the poor Dark Ranger.

—-

Fort Daelin had finally appeared in the distance and Sylvanas was almost gleeful to end this journey. The awkward silence that overtook them had gotten rather old, and the banshee was all but eager to distract herself with work. Jaina still seemed very infuriated with Sylvanas for what she had implied about her. And she was right in feeling so. Sylvanas’ ever-growing pride would never let her apologize to the mage. Part of her still thought her reaction to those invasive emotions was correct. As flawed as that logic was.

After her intense scolding, Anya had finally fallen silent. Sylvanas found herself quietly thanking Anya after a few more moments of silence for conveying (in startling clarity) why Sylvanas was the way she was. It hadn’t occurred to until now that if there was anyone who knew just this much about her habits and moods, it was her rangers. She figured it wasn’t all that surprising; they had known her throughout her life and beyond death. Always spending time around her in training or battles. Or even war meetings. They couldn’t afford not to know her.

“Warchief,” Anya spoke again after a moment. “It would not kill you to apologize to Lady Proudmoore.”

“Absolutely not.”

“ _Sylvanas-_ ”

“You seem to forget your place, Dark Ranger,” Sylvanas nearly growled, ear twitching in irritation, “I do not remember giving you permission to forgo my titles.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Can you please get over yourself for five minutes and just listen to someone’s advice for once?”

Before Sylvanas could respond, Nathanos spoke up, “You will correct how you address our Queen, Eversong, or I will curb your tongue yourself.”

Anya whirled her head towards Nathanos, nearly baring her fangs at him. “I’m becoming more and more convinced you were picked on as a child for being a tattle.”

“I am still your Ranger-Lord, Eversong, you will-”

“Enough.” 

Nathanos and Anya continued glowering at each other, but fell silent at the commanding tone in Sylvanas’ voice.

Nokrogroa coughed from atop his horse behind them.

Sylvanas gritted her teeth. “Is there something you would like to add, Champion?”

Nokrogroa hesitated for only a moment. “I agree with Dark Ranger Eversong, my Queen. It is most beneficial to this treaty if you and Lady Proudmoore tolerate each other.”

“Ah, I see,” Sylvanas drawled, “The man who has not spoken to his family in over a decade is going to lecture me as well. Whatever happened to keeping to yourself and doing your duty, Champion?”

Nokrogroa fell silent at the rhetorical, but anyone could sense the anger billowing off of him.

They had finally reached Fort Daelin, horses slowing to a stop in front of the greeting party awaiting them. Jaina was the first one off of her horse and wasted no time speaking with an Alliance human sent to assist them on this mission. Nokrogroa followed almost immediately to stand at his place behind the Lord Admiral.

“It is a pleasure, Lady Proudmoore,” the human announced, giving her a polite bow.

Jaina gave him a kind smile. “For once, I wish we could meet under less dire circumstances. The last time we spoke was directly before we sieged Dazar’alor.”

“It’s funny how wars connect us more than peace do-”

The Champion’s mouth snapped closed and he focused his gaze behind the Lord Admiral and directly onto Sylvanas. The intense hatred in his glare told her he was Gilnean, and she could suddenly sense the Worgen curse on him. Although, unlike most Gilneans she encountered, he had light brown skin, loosely trimmed black hair, and a short, but thick, dusting of stubble. 

Jaina followed his gaze towards Sylvanas. “I suppose introductions are in order. Lekar, you know of my wife, Sylvanas Windrunner. Warchief, this is Lekar. A very well known champion in the Alliance.”

Sylvanas blinked owlishly for a split second at Jaina actually addressing her for the first time in days, but she collected herself a moment later, extending her hand in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Lekar.”

The relief in Jaina’s eyes at Sylvanas’ rare civility reassured the Banshee that perhaps Jaina did not completely loathe her now. Perhaps Anya and Nokrogroa were right. There was a chance to repair this. Sylvanas didn’t know if she could force an apology out of her own throat, however.

The worgen made no move to reciprocate the greeting, staring at her hand in disdain. “The… honor is mine, Warchief.”

She glared down at him, rage burning through her. How dare he disrespect her like that. Did he know who she was? What she had done for lesser reasons? A surge of triumph shot through her when she realized she towered him by a few inches. She opened her mouth to say something that could potentially cause the worgen to breach a few laws.

Before the atmosphere could get even more hostile, Nathanos tapped her shoulder. “My Queen, I have your weapons prepared.”

Sylvanas gave a stiff nod in Jaina and Lekar’s direction and turned towards Nathanos. “Thank you, Blightcaller.” 

Nathanos lowered his voice while handing her Deathwhisper and a quiver full of arrows. “If the overgrown dog becomes a threat to you, say the word, Dark Lady.”

“I doubt that will be necessary, Blightcaller. Despite his very apparent resentment towards me, worgen will always be loyal. I do not believe he would go out of his way to breach this treaty.”

“Yet, he’s a disrespectful little mutt.” Nathanos muttered, handing over Sylvanas’ twin sabres. “Would you speak of the old dog, Greymane, when discussing loyalty?” 

“Greymane may be his king, but Wrynn is High King. His duty is to the Alliance first and foremost.”

“And what would you say if it turns out he conspires with Proudmoore to put a dagger in your back?”

Sylvanas thought for a minute, holstering her blades to her waist. “Why, Blightcaller, it almost sounds like you’re projecting. Are you planning on stabbing my consort in the back?”

Nathanos tightened his jaw. “If it is necessary to protect you, Dark Lady, I will do whatever is needed.”

Sylvanas gave him a hard, suspicious glare. “I will keep that in mind, Ranger-Lord.”

\---

“Your beard has begun to grow out a lot more, Lekar.”

Lekar rubbed the back of his neck and gave Jaina a sheepish grin. “Thank you, Lady Proudmoore. I feel more and more like myself every day.”

Jaina felt Nokrogroa shift again behind her, but this time he forwent his polearm, choosing to clasp his hands behind his back in a distinctly military style. The worgen glanced behind her at the rather tall, imposing death knight behind Jaina. After tense confrontation with Sylvanas, Jaina wasn’t sure how Lekar would respond to the presence of Nokrogroa.

“Sorry, how rude of me.” Jaina stepped aside to gesture between them. “Lekar, this is my honor guard, Nokrogroa. Nokrogroa, this is an Alliance champion, Lekar.”

“I’ve met this guy before,” Lekar exclaimed, expression suddenly very friendly. “We fought against Argus side by side.”

Nokrogroa tilted his head thoughtfully. “I apologize, Champion Lekar. I do not seem to recognize you.”

Lekar adopted another small grin. “Well, that’s a good thing. I looked way more different than I did now. Different voice. Different name. I’m not the same person you knew.”

“And the magic treatments are working well?” Jaina queried. She was an academic first, after all. And a majority of the research for hormone treatments was hers after all.

“Better than I expected, Lady Proudmoore. It’s relieving to finally feel like myself.”

Nokrogroa cocked his head again, out of understanding this time, yet stayed silent.

“Unfortunately,” Lekar continued, “It comes at the steep price of a lack of brain matter.”

Jaina was suddenly flooded with worry, until she saw the amusement shining in his eyes, fading her worry into mirth. “Ah, the curse of men. May your idiocy know no bounds.” The mage looked up at Nokrogroa suddenly, “No offense, of course, Nokrogroa.”

“None taken, Lord Admiral.”

Lekar barked out a short laugh and wiped a few tears. “As much as I’d love to discuss my growing stupidity - among other things that happen to be growing - there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sylvanas stepped beside Jaina, now fully armed, with Anya and Nathanos in tow. “Your report says you’ve found Naga tracks close to the fort. You will lead us to them, yes?”

Least adopted a hard mask at the commanding voice Sylvanas spoke with. Tone suddenly even, he answered. “Follow me, I will lead you to them.”

—-

Sylvanas knelt down in the sand. The waves had washed away a majority of the tracks, but they were still very traceable. Anya knelt beside her, fingers ghosting along the grooves in the sand. Sylvanas could feel the sharp sting of magic in the air. A small remnant of her old elven abilities, yet this was not the same as the nature magic she used to be privy to. 

“I wonder if you are seeing the same thing I’m seeing, Anya.”

Anya nodded. “It seems they have moved farther inland, Dark Lady.”

“Precisely.”

Jaina spoke, the second time today she had acknowledged the Banshee’s existence. “How can you tell?”

“Close your eyes and tell me what you feel, Proudmoore.”

Jaina gave her an indignant glare at the command, but obliged, closing her eyes and furrowing her brow in contemplation. “There’s traces of arcane in the air… A trail of it.”

Lekar gripped his greatsword tighter. “So, they cloaked their party with a siren to sneak farther inland.”

“Smart for a mutt.” Nathanos muttered behind him.

Sylvanas heard the low growl emanating from Lekar at Nathanos. “No name-calling, Ranger-Lord. We have to be respectful to our guests.”

Nathanos set his jaw, the tone of Sylvanas’ voice leaving no room for argument.

“Lord Admiral,” Anya said, watching the exchange warily. “Is it possible for you to enhance the arcane into a more traceable trail?”

Jaina lifted her hands, weaving a spell into the air. “Very possible.”

After an hour of tracking, Sylvanas felt a presence around them. It smelled of the salt in the sea, felt like the void that billowed off of Alleria. Instinct suggested she unholster her bow and nock an arrow, Anya and Nathanos repeating her motion. Nokrogroa, his two swords already out, straightened his posture, adopting a sudden stance of vigilance. Lekar has chosen to adopt his Worgen form, jet black fur bristling from the sudden feeling of an unseen threat. Jaina gripped her staff tighter.

“For Azshara!”

Sylvanas barely had time to sidestep a trident aimed directly at her head, red eyes widening to see that they were suddenly surrounded by a group of six myrmidons and two sirens. Jaina’s eyes took on a magical glow as she lobbed a ice spike at an approaching myrmidon, the spell doing very little to slow down his advance. Before, he knew it, Sylvanas’ arrow embedded in his eye and he slumped, trident falling from his hand.

Beside her, Lekar deflected a blow from another Naga’s sword, the raw strength of his worgen form pushing his assailant back.

“Orders, Warchief?” Nokrogroa asked, ducking a bolt of arcane from one of the sirens. 

“Keep the Lord Admiral safe at all costs.”

Anya released a quick succession of three arrows in the direction of a siren, embedding them deep within the scales of her chest. Nathanos had forgone his bow in favor of his dual axes, burying one in the head of another myrmidon. Jaina formed a path of frost under another advancing Naga, causing him to slip, his greatsword falling from his hand. Nokrogroa was on him in a split second, burying one of his frost tipped swords in his chest. 

The remaining siren hissed a curse in her language and lobbed a powerful water bolt towards Jaina. No one but Sylvanas and Nokrogroa was paying close attention to the Lord Admiral, and Sylvanas knew the death knight would not be fast enough to block the bolt. Sylvanas rushed forward with inhuman speed, utilizing the assistance of her Banshee form in a vain attempt to shield Jaina with her body.

The sudden feeling of dull pain blooming along the right side of her body had told her she succeeded, (she quietly thanked whoever was listening that pain no longer bothered her after death.) Nathanos watched her in shock after he loosed an arrow that planted itself directly in the remaining siren’s skull. Lekar braced himself on the corpse of a myrmidon, yanking his greatsword out and staring between Jaina and Sylvanas with a near-unreadable expression.

“Sylvanas…” she heard Jaina whisper behind her, worry lacing her voice.

Sylvanas sunk to her knees, confused at why it was suddenly very difficult to remain standing. Anya finished putting down the last of the myrmidon and rushed to Sylvanas’ side. “Warchief… that blow would have killed someone living.”

“It is a good thing I no longer live.” Sylvanas rasped, suddenly aware of her many broken ribs.

Jaina rushed behind Sylvanas before the Warchief could fall back into the sand, all of her strength leaving her. Cradling, Sylvanas’ head in her lap, Jaina looked down at her in unbridled concern. The fear in Jaina’s eyes made something inside of Sylvanas roil with more pain than her injuries had given her.

“You risked your life for me.”

“Impossible to risk something you no longer have, Jaina.” Sylvanas’ chuckle turned into a series of coughs as the ichor that served as her blood filled her lungs.

Jaina brushed a loose strand of Sylvanas pale blonde hair back into her hood. “Now I feel stupid for giving you the cold shoulder.” She choked back a grimace. “I almost lost you.”

Above Jaina’s head Sylvanas could hear Nathanos giving a discreet cough, laced with annoyance. “Many would call that a necessary sacrifice.”

Anya made a fake, exaggerated gagging noise. “Okay, enough of the self deprecation and the flirting. We need to get you healed.”

Sylvanas’ attempted to sit up, but fell back down in Jaina’s lap with a wince. This pain was nothing compared to what Arthas had put her through, but her body responded to it anyways in the only way it remembered. “It seems I am incapacitated. I fear I may need some assistance walking on my own.”

“Walking?” Jaina scoffed. “No, I’m teleporting is directly back to Boralus where it’s safe and you won’t end up exacerbating your wounds.”

Nathanos took it upon himself to speak. “Surely you can’t expect me to trust you to teleport the Warchief safely. Especially with her in such a state.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me.” Jaina glared up at Nathanos. “This is an order, Blightcaller.”

Anya held back a snicker at the look on Nathanos face while she helped Sylvanas to her feet, offering her shoulder to the Banshee to brace onto her. Nokrogroa rushed to brace the other side of her.

“It seems my lady wife has given an ultimatum, Blightcaller. It would do you well to remember she has command over you.” Sylvanas wiped the green rivulets flowing from the corner of her mouth with the back of her uninjured hand. “Now, Lord Admiral, if you would please manifest that portal.”

Before Sylvanas had finished her sentence, Jaina put the finishing touches on her spell. A perfect doorway to Proudmoore Keep shimmered into existence in front of her.

Lekar sheathed his greatsword, finally speaking, “I’m going to head back to Fort Daelin and write a report about our findings.”

“That would be wise, Lekar,” Jaina said, “Nathanos would be more than happy to accompany you and write up his own report.”

_“As you wish, Lord Admiral.”_ Nathanos hissed, nostrils flaring in rage.

Lekar gave a short laugh that contained no humor at all. “And perhaps this _dog_ can teach you some tricks, Blightcaller.”

—-

Nokrogroa and Anya assisted Sylvanas as best they could in hobbling through the portal. With a wave of her hand, Jaina dissipated the portal. The halls she teleported them in were distinctly empty to keep from drawing attention to the Warchief’s injured state. The two holding her up helped her limp towards the nearest bench so she could have a seat.

“Fetch the apothecaries.” Anya told Nokrogroa.

With an ‘aye’ the death knight flew down the hall in a rush.

“I certainly hope that stunt hasn’t caused me to end up crippled for the rest of my days.”

Jaina gave Sylvanas a hard glare. “Can you stop with the jokes? You almost died.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Her words sounded uncomfortably close to a death rattle.

“In fact, this would’ve been the fourth.” 

Before Jaina could start berating the Banshee Queen any farther, Anya interjected. “Now, now, Dark Lady, what did I tell you about listening to your wife?”

“You said ‘happy wife, happy unlife’. That doesn’t mean I have to listen.” 

“Doesn’t look like you were doing a very good job at that as of lately.” Anya countered.

Sylvanas thought about that for a moment. “You’re right, Anya. Although, that will be ten laps in the training yard.”

“You can’t punish her for being right.” Jaina scorned.

“Watch me.”

A multitude of footsteps sounded down the hall in their direction. A few Forsaken apothecaries followed closely behind Nokrogroa, with an enraged Katherine Proudmoore in tow. Jaina groaned inwardly at the inevitable lecture she was going to receive from her mother.

“When I heard you were visiting Stormsong Valley, I hardly expected you to end up in battle.” 

Sylvanas glanced between Katherine and Jaina while Anya and an unnamed Forsaken was helping her stand. “As much as I want to be a part of this debriefing, I’m afraid I will need to be healed before I can return to my duties.”

Katherine absently waved the Warchief off, keeping her glare fixed on Jaina.

“Nokrogroa,” Jaina said, “Join the Warchief.”

“Lady Proudmoore, I am not wou-”

“Do not insult my intelligence, Champion. I can clearly see you nursing that gash on your leg. That is an order.”

Nokrogroa shifted hesitantly on his feet, but nodded. “Yes, my Queen.”

Barely acknowledging Nokrogroa’s limping form, Katherine waved her hand in expectation. “Well?”

Jaina reached her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Perhaps I withheld some of the truth when I said I was heading to Stormsong to visit.”

“ _Withheld some of the-_ ” Katherine threw her hands up in exasperation. “Visiting implies going to the village of Brennadam or the damned Hatchery. Not a fort actively plagued by Azshara’s forces. You are Lord Admiral of Kul’Tiras. You are representative of a treaty that keeps the world from falling into open war again. You cannot afford to go risking your life like this.”

Jaina let out a sigh. “I am more than capable of holding my own in a battle. It was all under control.”

“Is ‘under control’ what you would call the state the Warchief was left in? Imagine if that spell had hit you. It would have _killed_ you, Jaina.”

“I’m one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth, I could have easily absorbed that level of petty arcane.”

“Petty arcane? Then why did Sylvanas throw herself in front of you?” Katherine demanded.

Jaina didn’t have an answer for that. The simplest explanation would be that Sylvanas jumped in front of that spell to save Jaina’s life, unneeded as it was. But Sylvanas had always given Jaina a sense of independence. She knew the mage was more than capable of warding off threats on her life. More than capable of shrugging off magical attacks. Sylvanas knew how powerful she was, so why shield her from an attack that wouldn’t have done much (if any) damage to Jaina. There was something more to it. And the red glow of the Banshee’s eyes begging for forgiveness while her head laid in Jaina’s lap spoke volumes more than her dry humor.

“I think that’s her way of apologizing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe if Nathanos was quiet for once, he wouldn't be the butt of everyone's jokes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas gets high. The married couple continue to fail at communication. Lor'themar and Taelia irk Jaina in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long. I got really busy out of nowhere.
> 
> I don't like how I wrote this chapter that much, but I figured I should stop overthinking and just post it.

It was a miracle grooves hadn’t been bore into the floor yet.

Restless, Jaina paced back and forth like she had done for the previous twenty minutes. The group of Naga that attacked them was far too large to be a mere scouting party. They seemed to be preparing to ambush something, or someone. Or, perhaps, they were waiting for night to fall over Fort Daelin so they could slaughter the people inside before they knew it. Jaina was eternally grateful there had been no loss of life in the attack, yet she wondered if there were more groups like them currently infiltrating Kul’Tiras. Infiltrating nations all over Azeroth. She could only hope that Anduin and other leaders had enough foresight to double patrols and maintain vigilance. 

And there was the matter of Sylvanas. Jaina had never seen the Banshee as injured as she was and it made her sick to her stomach. Sylvanas had dived in front of Jaina, taking the full brunt of the siren’s spell, and barely walked away with her life. Worry rose in Jaina exponentially as she turned on her heel for what felt like the hundredth time. It had been five hours since she had last seen Sylvanas’ being practically carried away to recover from her injuries. 

All because of Jaina.

All because Sylvanas and Jaina were terrible at communicating. If Jaina had simply confronted her and they had talked out their issues, Sylvanas wouldn’t be Tides knows where with the terribly grievous wounds. Jaina hadn’t known Sylvanas wasn’t one for apologies, but she should have. She should’ve known the Banshee’s stubborn personality kept her from owning up to her mistakes, apologizing for them. Instead, Sylvanas expressed regret in the only way she knew how. Grand, dramatic gestures full of meaning. No words.

Tidemother, Jaina missed her greatly. The physical contact was a comfort she never expected she would actively seek from her wife. She missed the veiled, but endearing words. She missed hearing her how her name sounded coming from Sylvanas’. She missed the way Sylvanas would tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering along the shell of it. All these gestures had meaning, yet Sylvanas never verbalized them.

Jaina came to the shocking revelation that the Banshee has actually grown fond of her. She’d never seen Sylvanas treat anyone else with the tenderness she gave Jaina. And the mage found she had grown a portion of fondness in her own heart for Sylvanas. She  _ cared _ about the wellbeing - the happiness - of the elf.

With each passing second, Anya’s words to her made more and more sense. Sylvanas reacted the way she did because of jealousy. That was obvious. But there was more to it. She felt her connection to Jaina was threatened by people who were previously close to the mage. She feared Jaina would want to rekindle those old ties rather than seek comfort in the Warchief of the Horde. 

Jaina’s brain was too busy whirring with a sudden stream of thoughts for her to notice the door slowly creak open. The sound of a body falling to the floor made her snap her head towards the disturbance.

It would have been a rather comical sight; Sylvanas falling face first into the hardwood, had Jaina not been so terribly worried about her health. Jaina rushed to her side, kneeling down to help the Banshee back on her feet.

Sylvanas stood with Jaina’s assistance, her legs shaking with weariness. The first thing Jaina had noticed was that Sylvanas was ‘good as new’, so to speak. No trace of the injuries from the ambush left on her form. Only scars from her past were left. From the side Jaina was bracing her on, it seemed her ribs were no longer broken and her arm was fully functional again.

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said, “May I ask you a question?”

Trying as hard as she could to ignore her heart beating faster at the use of her first name, Jaina helped Sylvanas to the bed. “You may.”

“Do you ever feel as though you’re being controlled by a puppeteer?”

Jaina’s brows furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out what caused a question. “What are you talking about?”

Sylvanas gave her a look of concern; the first time Jaina had ever seen an emotion of that liking on her face. “Do you feel them? The strings that control each of us?” She reached above her head to tug at an imaginary thread.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina said sweetly, grasping the hand and pulling it back in Sylvanas’ lap. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I-“ Sylvanas swallowed, “I remember a battle. Naga. I had to drain life force to heal my injuries. That’s always made my mind feel... fuzzy.”

Jaina patted her hand gently. “That explains why you’re acting like a teenager who imbibed anchorweed for the first time.”

“Is that from your personal experience?”

“I never claimed I was well behaved when I was young.”

Sylvanas gently took Jaina’s hand in her lap and turned it palm up, ghosting her fingers along the lines of Jaina’s hand.

Jaina’s hand twitched at the tickle of Sylvanas tracing the topmost line on her palm. “Your heartline is deep and chained.”

“I wasn’t aware you were well versed in the art of palm reading,” Jaina said around a smile she couldn’t contain. “What does that mean?”

“During excursions in the Quel’Thalas forests, rangers liked to read each other’s palms for fun.” The red glow of Sylvanas’ eyes rose to meet the calming blue of Jaina’s. “This tells me you’ve lived an incredibly stressful life, yet you always recover. You’ve had periods of massive depression and heartbreak. I could learn so much about you just by reading your palm.”

Sylvanas was definitely soaring higher than a hippogryph. Jaina could see Sylvanas’ struggle to maintain focus in her eyes. The shallow breaths she’s taking, despite no longer needing them. 

“Good thing palm reading is considered a pseudoscience.” Jaina muttered, ignoring the fact that Sylvanas was right about her. “I think you need to rest.”

Sylvanas made a fleeting attempt to regain Jaina’s hand but she was not successful. “Your skin is soft.”

Jaina didn’t have time to reply before Sylvanas moved her hand up to cup Jaina’s cheek. Running her thumb along it tenderly. The lack of heat in her hands cooled off Jaina’s face a little before warming to her temperature. Jaina unconsciously leaned into the touch and  _ hated _ herself for it. She was still angry at Sylvanas, but... she missed this. She never thought she would ever feel this way again for another person. Especially not with Sylvanas Windrunner. Warchief of the Horde. The Banshee Queen. The same Sylvanas who was softly cradling her face and looking at the mage with a feeling she was not self aware enough to stifle. Jaina’s own heart panged with an emotion she was not ready to decipher as she placed her hand over Sylvanas’.   
  
“You’re very beautiful, Jaina.” Sylvanas muttered, her thumb lightly brushing over Jaina’s lips. The mage was unable to stop herself from glancing down at Sylvanas’ own lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss her-

Jaina pulled away from the touch. “You seriously need to lay down and let whatever this is wear off.”

Sylvanas allowed herself to be pushed back onto the pillows. “I’m sorry for what I said to you.”

“Yeah, your dramatic sacrifice told me that already.” Jaina let out a breath. “I’m still angry about it, but now I understand and I forgive you.”

“Will you stay and watch over me while I rest?”

“Of course I’ll stay.” Jaina sat beside where Sylvanas laid, leaning back on the headboard and producing a book from the nightstand.

Sylvanas turned on her side to face Jaina and held on tightly to the mage’s arm. “The puppeteer has been quiet lately.”

Jaina let out an indulgent smile. “All this talk of puppets. What are you even on about?” 

Sylvanas elected not to reply, instead, burying her face in the mage’s free arm. Jaina (to her surprise) thought the sight was rather adorable, until she heard - or felt a low rumble coming from Sylvanas.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina inquired, “Are you purring?”

“I am. I’m feeling content, I believe.” Sylvanas mumbled, the words muffled by Jaina’s arm. “Yes, that is the feeling. Contentment.”

Jaina shook her head and fumbled the book open with her free hand. She wasn’t even aware elves could purr. Vereesa never did around her when they had their short fling, but the youngest Windrunner was also in the midst of mourning her late husband, feeling contentment was not an option for her at that time. Of course, Jaina was also aware that her list of elves she had been with was very short, only consisting of two names. Both of them from the same family. Jaina didn’t know if that was just a distinctly elven ability, or a side effect of Sylvanas being turned into a Banshee.

Jaina looked back down at Sylvanas’ form to ask a question, but noticed the elf had dozed off on her arm.

How Forsaken could sleep? She had no clue. Jaina had never seen a Forsaken sleep since she had been married to Sylvanas. Not Nokrogroa. Not Anya. Definitely not Nathanos. Not even the Queen of the Forsaken herself, Sylvanas Windrunner. Perhaps it was a byproduct of whatever special healing they had to go through forced sleep on them. Perhaps they preferred not to sleep, grateful undeath did away with the need for it, in exchange for more time to themselves. Jaina made a mental note to ask later.

Looking back down at Sylvanas, Jaina’s heart softened at the relaxed features on the Banshee’s face. She absently brushed a lock of Sylvanas’ pale blonde behind the elf’s ear, wincing a little when she saw the ear flick away at the slight contact. Jaina froze for a moment, but when Sylvanas gave no indication she awoke, the mage relaxed.

That ‘fondness’ became devotion in that moment.

\---

The way Jaina kept staring at her was  _ infuriating _ . Ever since Sylvanas had stumbled through the bedroom door incredibly blood drunk, Jaina had not let her hear the end of it. Sylvanas had no memory of what she said before she drifted off, but whatever it was had to be extremely embarrassing. The mage gave her hints, however. Mentions of puppets and palms and  _ purring _ . What Sylvanas did know was Jaina was acting contrary to how she was the other day. Perhaps her grand gesture had gotten the point across to Jaina that she wanted forgiveness. That she was genuinely sorry.

Or that her blood drunk mind had spoken completely out of turn.

Whatever it was, Sylvanas was grateful for it. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she had missed the warm touch of Jaina’s skin. The calming effect the mage’s voice seemingly had on her. She especially missed the hidden emotion in Jaina’s eyes whenever she glanced in her direction.

The very same look Jaina was giving her right now.

Sylvanas took a sip of her hot coffee, and, naturally, she couldn’t taste the bitter flavor. It had only felt like molten heat sliding down her throat. She would get her taste of true bitterness, however, as Katherine Proudmoore began to address her.

“I am… glad to see you have fully recovered from your wounds. Jaina was rather worried about you.”

“Thank you for your concern, Lady Proudmoore,” Sylvanas drawled around her mug. “I would do anything for my wife.”

“I can only wonder what your definition is for ‘anything’.”

Sylvanas bristled and opened her mouth, ready to retaliate, until she caught the pleading look Jaina was giving her. Although, Katherine’s words didn’t bother her nearly as much as Lor’themar Theron’s presence beside the Proudmoore matriarch did. However much his presence at the breakfast table bothered Sylvanas, it seemed to bother Jaina almost twice as much. Sylvanas wondered just how close the former Lord Admiral and the Regent Lord had gotten over the past month. She was seeing a lot more of him in the halls excluding mandatory meetings with Horde leadership.

“And I wonder why a marriage between Jaina Proudmoore and I required the Regent Lord of Silvermoon to become a close… ‘family friend’ of the Proudmoore’s.”

  
  


Derek and Tandred looked away, stifling their laughter; the two brothers using each other as support to keep from falling out of their chairs. The laughter stopped immediately when they saw the glare Katherine was giving them. Sylvanas gave a wicked smirk in silent satisfaction at Lor’themar as he adjusted his eyepatch and averted his gaze. Jaina just sat there, staring in mortification. Before Sylvanas could open her mouth and say something that might be the cause of her fourth death, she felt Jaina’s warm hand on her side.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina spoke up. “If you’re finished with your drink, I would like to discuss our arrangements for when we’re residing in Lordaeron.”

Sylvanas could hear Tandred mutter the word ‘discuss’ with unnecessary emphasis before he was cut off with a swift kick in the shin from Derek.

After draining the rest of her coffee, Sylvanas stood and offered Jaina her arm. “Shall we then?”

Nokrogroa stood at attention, prepared to trail behind them, but Sylvanas held her hand up. “Feel free to take the rest of the day off, Champion. I shall keep my wife company.”

Nokrogroa may have been wearing his helmet, but Sylvanas didn’t need to see his face to know the death knight was ready to protest. He looked towards Jaina for confirmation and she gave a nod.

With an Orcish salute at the two, he took his leave.

Sylvanas had set the pace, making it casual and conversational. “The Regent Lord has gotten quite close to your mother.”

Jaina let out a sigh. “Please don’t remind me. I’d rather not think about what they get up to in their spare time.”

“Lor’themar has a habit of overstepping,” Sylvanas continued, “If you desire, I can order him to keep his distance.”

“No, no,” Jaina said quickly. “I’m glad my mother is happy. I wouldn’t want to ruin that.”

Sylvanas gave Jaina a long look out of the corner of her eye, studying Jaina for a moment. “As you wish, Jaina. Although, your brothers find everything about this situation rather amusing.”

“They’re brothers. It’s nearly impossible for them to take anything seriously.”

Sylvanas led Jaina into a rather empty hallway and glanced down both directions before turning to face Jaina. “You had no intention of discussing our arrangements in Lordaeron, did you, Proudmoore?”

“Of course not, we have the rest of the month for that.” Jaina grabbed Sylvanas’ hand and laced their fingers together. “Maybe I just want time alone with you.”

Sylvanas took a step back, but didn’t free her hand. Jaina had been increasingly flirtatious lately and Sylvanas was unsure of how she had actually felt about the situation. On one hand, it was a small comfort, Jaina’s affection. One that improved her day immensely (she would never show it, though.) Sylvanas tilted her head curiously at Jaina, one ear wilting slightly in thought. She took two steps forward until she was mere centimeters away from Jaina and trailed the back of her knuckles on Jaina’s cheek.

“And what do you plan on doing with that time, little mage?” Sylvanas teased in a lowered tone, cornering Jaina against the wall.

A flush crept up from Jaina’s neck and she swallowed, “L-little mage? I’m taller than you.”

A wicked smile spread across the Banshee’s face, ears perking in subtle amusement. “Not by very much, Proudmoore.” She braced her arm next to Jaina’s head and leaned in, mere millimeters from Jaina’ face. “Besides, you don’t hear me complaining about height differences, do you?”

Jaina only responded with a choked noise.

It delighted Sylvanas to see Jaina’s reactions; to best the mage at her own game. The expression in Jaina’s eyes was unreadable, and her shallow breaths subtly brushed Sylvanas’ lips. Sylvanas put her finger under her chin and tilted her head up so that there was almost no space between their mouths. 

“Is this what you want, Jaina?” Sylvanas whispered.

Jaina jerked her head in affirmation and that was all Sylvanas needed to surge forward and capture her lips.

Sylvanas tried to ignore how Jaina’s arm slid around her neck to press her closer. How tight the mage’s hand was gripping her shoulder. How one of her own arms had wound around Jaina’s waist and the other around her shoulders. The soft sigh Jaina gave out when the kiss deepened. Despite not needing to breathe, Sylvanas found her breath tingling with Jaina’s. Trying to focus only on the kiss, Sylvanas absently wound her fingers in the back of Jaina’s braid, pulling back to nip at Jaina’s bottom lip with the edge of her fang. The hum Jaina let out made Sylvanas fall in love with her all-

Love?

Sylvanas pulled away suddenly, turning away when she noticed Jaina chasing the feeling, and tilted her head in thought. After Hellscream’s trial, she didn’t trust herself to love someone so blindly again. After how Vereesa had abandoned her. Left her to her loneliness. Ran back to her  _ precious _ Alliance. If her own sister had cast her aside - both of her sisters - then what did that tell her about the living? They don’t trust the undead. They don’t believe a shred of that person who was there in life still remains. Did Jaina trust her? Would Jaina cast her aside when she becomes disgusted with her?

“Sylvanas?” A still breathless voice asked.

The Banshee did not hear her.

The living were right. While the dead retain their memories and scars through death, it still changes a person. It changed Sylvanas. From the humorous, very kind Ranger-General to the cunning, reserved Banshee Queen. She could not afford to keep that carefree nature; that optimism. Where had it gotten her in the past? Dead three times over. She could not let feelings like trust and love fester and rot in her. She couldn’t afford to indulge in these feelings; it would ultimately hurt less when she was eventually betrayed.

She took a sizable step back and gave a polite bow to Jaina. “I apologize for my actions, Lord Admiral. It will not happen again.”

“ _ Sorry? _ ” Jaina exasperated, eyes narrowing in skepticism. “I wanted that for days.”

Her words fell on deaf ears as Sylvanas sped out of the hallway.

\---

Jaina could barely focus on her surroundings. Every other moment, her thoughts blurred away to one singular feeling, and her hand sliding up to brush her lips, still tingling.

“Lady Jaina?”

The mage snapped out of her fifth daydream in the past hour and brought her gaze back to Taelia Fordragon. Normally, she would feel a twinge of guilt in the presence of the young guard captain. That guilt being directly related to the state secret that was Bolvar Fordragon and him being the Lich King. Jaina would always find herself quietly wondering who would be the one to break the news to Taelia that her father was actually alive, and took up the mantle of the Jailer of the Damned. But, for once, Jaina couldn’t focus on that. All she could think about was her wife. 

Taelia furrowed her brows in worry at Jaina’s pallid face. “Are you okay?”

The mage blinked away the vestiges of her thoughts. Willing away the ghostly feeling of the Sylvanas’ lips on hers. The way Sylvanas’ arm felt, tight around her waist. The banshee’s fingers weaved into her hair, guiding her gently through the kiss. The dangerous edge of those elvish fangs worrying at her lip-

Jaina let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, I’m sorry, Taelia. I’ve just had an interesting day.”

“Do you want to talk about something else?” Taelia leaned back in her seat and laid down the report she was reciting. “Doesn’t look like you’re in the state to do much work right now.”

Jaina shook her head and lifted her hand. “No, no. I’m fine. Go ahead.”

Taelia raised her eyebrows and picked up the parchment again. “-while merchant ships are reporting increased-“

“What do you do if your wife can’t properly communicate with you?”

“There it is.” Taelia threw down the report again. “So, the Warchief is the problem? Figures.”

“She kissed me.” Jaina mumbled, burying her face in her hands. 

“Really?” Taelia’s squeal echoed off the walls of the empty meeting room. “How was it?”

Jaina winced at the sheer volume of the other woman. “I happened to enjoy it a lot. I didn’t enjoy the part where she practically ran away, however.”

“Just one kiss and she ran away? Elvish mating rituals are weird.”

Jaina shot Taelia an annoyed look. “No, it is definitely not an ‘Elvish mating ritual’. There was something else there.”

“‘Something else’ being?” Taelia gestured her hand for Jaina to continue, but the mage slipped deep into thought again. “Good to know running away isn’t an elvish trait. Gives me even more confidence to eventually talk to that Dark Ranger.”

Jaina looked back at Taelia. “Dark Ranger? Are you talking about Anya?”

“Is that the one with the short, brown hair? Always has a smile? Very funny, charming personality?”

Jaina nodded, narrowing her eyes at Taelia in suspicion.

“Her name is Anya? Well, that makes her infinitely more attractive. I’ll be sure to work my Fordragon charm on her.”

“Unbelievable.” Jaina scoffed. “You really are a sailor, aren’t you?”

Taelia put her hands behind her head and leaned back in her seat. “So are you, Lady Jaina. I’m surprised you weren’t the one to initiate the first kiss with the Warchief.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing at all, my Lady.” Taelia gave a small secretive grin. “Maybe, if you find your lady wife and initiate the kiss, she won’t run away.”

“I hardly doubt that will solve any communication issues we have between us.” Jaina deadpanned.

“You never know. Everyone’s relationships are odd in their own way.”

“Even yours? Which is hardly a relationship anyways, considering it’s just you staring longingly at a woman and-“

Jaina’s eyes narrowed in time with Taelia’s as a dark blur darted from one corner of the room; but that wasn’t the only one. Two more jumped out from behind Jaina and another to the left of Taelia. The figures, completely covered in black, drew wicked looking daggers and advanced on the pair. Time has seemingly slowed down in that brief moment for Jaina as her adrenaline kicked in and she mentally prepared a frost bolt, Taelia drawing a knife in the same moment to defend herself. 

Before Jaina knew it, the four assailants were dead, but not by her or Taelia’s hand. Two were practically cleaved in half and behind them stood Nokrogroa, who had seemingly forgone his helmet and armor, armed with only his polearm. The other two slumped moments later, arrows embedded in their hearts as Anya materialized from the ceiling. 

Nokrogroa turned his head towards Jaina, his face and his leather cuirass stained in blood. “Are you alright, Lord Admiral?”

Jaina nodded and swallowed back a wave of bile at the sight of Anya pulling back the mask on one of the mutilated bodies. “I’m unharmed. Thank you, Nokrogroa.”

Anya clucked her tongue at what she found. “It seems we have dissenters in our ranks.”

“Forsaken?” Taelia asked, taking a peek at the body beside her.

“Not all Forsaken. Two of them are - well, were living.” Anya confirmed, rolling up the sleeve of another body to reveal an anchor tattoo. “Kul Tirans to be exact.”

Jaina’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Kul Tiran? These are my people. I’m their Lord Admiral. What reason would they have for attacking me?”

Taelia let out a shrug and crouched beside Anya to inspect the tattoo. “Perhaps some who still believe you murdered your father.”

Jaina looked away and scrunched her face in anger. “Of course. There are still those upset about something that happened fifteen years ago. Why am I not surprised?”

“This one is still breathing.” Nokrogroa pressed the haft of his polearm into another body, who let out a groan of protest. “Perhaps we’ll get the answers we need out of him.”

“I need to inform the guard. Put them on high alert for anyone suspicious in the Keep.” Taelia said, standing.

Anya shook her head. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea. We don’t know who we can trust.”

“Alert the Warchief,” Jaina said, her face hardened. “If there was an attempt on my life, an attempt on hers is not far behind.”

“Aye, my Lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I accidentally turn this into a Taelia/Anya fic...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathanos gets assigned torture duty. Anya hits on Taelia. Stormwind gets attacked. Valeera can't mind her business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry this took two weeks but I hope you enjoy it.

“It is time, my Queen.” The watery voice of her favored lieutenant spoke.

Azshara let out a quiet laugh, not turning around. The mortal races residing on Azeroth had no inkling of what they were up against. The sheer power she had in terms of the numbers of her army and her own power. Nor did they have any idea just how powerful N’Zoth was, even trapped in his prison. His greatest weakness, the legendary blade named Xal’atath, had fallen into the hands of a pawn, unaware of his true role in all of this. Azshara had promised him everything his heart desired, from love to petty revenge, as long as he served his position well. Despite being his ‘loyal’ queen, his second in command, Azshara didn’t trust N’Zoth as far as she could throw him, which was not at all. But his power was needed if she was to break free from his control..

“Be a dear and give the order; won’t you, Zhareesa?”

—-

The meeting room was deathly silent, save for the awkward shuffling and fidgeting from the inhabitants. The assassins’ bodies had long been removed from the room, the living one thrown in a cell at the bottom of Proudmoore Keep. It was almost like nothing had happened at all. If one could ignore the blood that still stained the wood.

Sylvanas drummed her fingers idly on the table, mulling over the short, concise report Anya and Nokrogroa had given her. The thought of Jaina nearly being murdered had made her restless, eager to flay anyone who dared attempt such an act. She scrunched up her face in barely concealed anger, pointedly ignoring Jaina’s gaze from across the table. Sylvanas felt a twinge of guilt pulse through her suddenly. She shouldn’t have acted on her feelings. She shouldn’t have left Jaina alone, unguarded. She shouldn’t have even  _ kissed  _ her. But Sylvanas remained grateful that Nokrogroa had kept a close watch on her and that Anya had a habit of eavesdropping. Without them, Jaina may have very well been dead and the world would have been thrown into another useless faction war.

Before she could wallow in more self pity, Sylvanas finally spoke. “This is all rather concerning. Unfortunately, we have no information regarding who sent them.”

Anya propped her feet up on the table and leaned her chair back. “The only lead we have is the one remaining assassin. And he’s nowhere near being somewhat coherent right now.”

“Shame.”

“Indeed, my Queen. I was bursting to break out the torture kit.”

“Currently, the only ones we can trust are the five currently in this room.” Sylvanas leaned forward resting her elbows on the table. “Everything that has happened here today remains in this room. We cannot trust a single Kul Tiran nor Forsaken citizen, considering the dissenters seem to have decided to put aside old hatreds for a greater cause.”

“Forgive me, Warchief,” Taelia interjected. “But what should we do regarding the prisoner? We can’t exactly tell the other guards why he’s there. And when he’s conscious, we need to ensure he says nothing unless it’s to one of us.”

“I knew there were brains that went along with that pretty face.” Anya gave Taelia a rather salacious grin. “I heard what you said about me. If you want to know my response, come to the back side of the barracks at around-“

“Anya,” Sylvanas warned, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. “The task at hand, please.”

The current Lich King’s spawn has a point, of course. Taelia clearly possessed more gray matter than her father. That much was proven. And she was very loyal to Jaina, likely related to her being a ward of the Proudmoore family for a number of years.

“The Dark Rangers,” Jaina muttered, and for the first time, Sylvanas looked in her direction. “They’re loyal only to Sylvanas and I’m sure they wouldn’t ask questions.”

“We actually ask a lot of questions. We’re still gossiping elves.” Anya said, checking her nails.

Sylvanas decided to ignore Anya in that moment and flicked her gaze back to Jaina. “The Lord Admiral has a point. If there is anyone we can trust, it is them.”

Jaina gave her a surprised look. Shocked that Sylvanas had actually agreed with her for once. The banshee’s resolve broke slightly as their eyes met and memories of the kiss flooded her mind. She remembered the hurt in the mage’s eyes when Sylvanas regained her sense of self and left. Would Jaina understand her reaction? Why it was so difficult for her to trust someone living? Learning mere minutes ago that Jaina’s life could have been so abruptly ended due to Sylvanas’ carelessness, made her weary, among other emotions she was not ready to acknowledge.

“Does that mean Nokro over here is going to be in charge of interrogation?” Anya pointed over to the death knight.

Sylvanas internally thanked whatever god was listening that Anya distracted her from that line of thinking.

Nokrogroa, who currently lacked his plate armor and the helmet that hid his face, swayed slightly at the acknowledgment. He said nothing, but the way his mouth curved down around his fangs spoke volumes.

“Nokrogroa has no interrogation skills to speak of.” The death knight in question tightened his jaw at Sylvanas’ words. “That is a duty I shall bequeath to Blightcaller.”

Jaina’s eyes narrowed at the name. “How do we know we can trust the Ranger-Lord? He has been mysteriously absent this entire day.”

“And for a human, he gossips too much. Even more than an elf.” Anya added.

“And he is also a Dark Ranger and fiercely loyal, no?”

“Let me ask for an outside opinion.” Anya turned to face Taelia. “How do you feel about Nathanos Blightcaller?”

Taelia gave a nervous glance across the table. “Do I have permission to speak freely?”

“It’s encouraged.”

“I hate him.”

Anya glanced back at Sylvanas and raised her eyebrows. “See?”

“Find me another that is suitable for the job.” 

Anya thought for a moment. “Fair.” she conceded, leaning back in her seat.

“Nokrogroa must remain with the Lord Admiral at all times unless I am there to personally relieve him of his duty. We cannot afford a momentary reprieve from constant vigilance.”

“I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” Jaina flared up, standing halfway in her seat and planting her hands on the table in front of her.

“I’m fully confident you can, wife, but not even the great mage, Aegywnn, can weave a spell against a dagger in her back.” Sylvanas drawled, “Especially not caught unawares.”

“ _ Do not compare me to _ -“

The sound of the door being busted open made the already tense room reach for their weapons yet again. Inside the room, barreled a worgen with completely black fur matted with blood. His heaving breaths indicating he had not had a moment’s rest for quite a while.

“Lekar?” Jaina asked, cautiously.

“My Lady, I took a portal here as soon as I could.” He sputtered between heaving breaths. “Stormwind has been attacked.”

—-

When they reached the throne room of Stormwind, Anduin sat upon it, looking a little worse for wear. He hadn’t changed out of his armor since the battle mere hours ago, still covered in Naga blood and sea water. In this moment, Anduin Wrynn looked (and likely felt) far beyond his nineteen years of life. The hardships of the throne of Stormwind - being the High King of the Alliance, taking a toll on him.

Jaina couldn’t help, but be secretly grateful that her life seemed so simple at nineteen compared to his. The only thing she was concerned with was her mage studies in Dalaran and her betrothal to the Prince of Lordaeron. Of course, the older she became, the far more stressors came into her life. Fleeing Lordaeron; fighting the Burning Legion, lording over Theramore, losing Theramore. And so many more things that had hardened her over the years. But her poor nephew in heart; he hardly had time to enjoy his youth before the mantle of leadership fell on his shoulders.

He looked up from the hand he pressed to his face and brightened at the sight of Jaina. “Lord Admiral, I’m glad you came as soon as you could.”

Jaina waved him off. “It was of no consequence, High King, and attack from Azshara holds precedent over any of my prior obligations.”

She felt Sylvanas’ gaze bore into the side of her skull, clearly wanting to mention the attack that occurred only moments ago on the Jaina’s life. Thankfully, she stayed silent.

Anduin gave a polite nod in Sylvanas’ direction. “Warchief, I understand that Stormwind is not under your immediate concern, so I thank you for taking the time to come to our aid.”

“Even if there was no pact between our respective factions, the threat of a greater enemy is still of my concern, your majesty.”

Anduin tilted his head thoughtfully at Sylvanas’s words. “I still appreciate it. It shows the loyalty you have to the treaty.”

Sylvanas gave a simple nod as Anduin stood from his throne and gestured to the adjacent war room. “Shall we?”

Jaina forced down the feeling of bitter disappointment when Sylvanas brushed past her, not linking their arms together like they did whenever they made an appearance. She hadn’t even spared Jaina a second glance. Frustration peaked in Jaina and she reached her hand out to grab Sylvanas’ arm before she was out of reach. Sylvanas turned to glare at Jaina, but her eyes widened in barely concealed surprise when she saw the irritation on Jaina’s face.

“Can you give us a second, Anduin?” Jaina asked too sweetly, “I need to have a few words with my wife.”

Anduin gave a questioning look, but continued through the doorway. “Of course.”

When Anduin was out of earshot, Sylvanas narrowed her glowing red gaze. “Is there an issue, Proudmoore?”

Jaina loosened her grip on Sylvanas’ upper arm, but made no move to let go. “Yes, actually. Your childlike silent treatment act is getting rather tired.”

“I have no idea what you are referring to Proudmoore.”

Jaina threw her hands up in exasperation. “You kissed  _ me _ and now you have the nerve to spend the entire day ignoring my existence until absolutely necessary.”

“That’s what this is about?” Sylvanas scoffed and yanked her arm from Jaina’s grip. “I believe we have more pressing matters to attend to, Proudmoore.”

Jaina gritted her teeth at Sylvanas’ condescending tone. She stalked up in front of the Banshee before she could make her way to the meeting room. “We will discuss this later.” Turning on a heel, Jaina straightened her robes and strode into the room. 

Genn Greymane’s face brightened momentarily then it fell away to a look of disdain as he watched Sylvanas walk in close behind Jaina. 

“Jaina, I am glad to see you.” He said before turning his sneer towards Sylvanas. “Warchief.”

When Sylvanas opened her mouth, Jaina instinctively knew the next words out of her mouth could be the catalyst for another war. “We came as soon as we could, Genn.” Jaina spoke before Sylvanas could.

Beside the worgen stood Valeera, who gave Sylvanas and Jaina an inscrutable look. One full of knowing and curiosity. Jaina wondered if she had exploited her role as Anduin’s personal spy and observed the couple at his request, or her own curiosity. Did she see the easy closeness the newlyweds had developed mere months after their union? Did she see the kiss Sylvanas gave her?

Anduin cleared his throat and braced his hands on the table in front of him. “As you are probably very well aware, Azshara’s forces have made an attack here.”

“A rather bold one too. An attack on a major stronghold such as Stormwind is an interesting tactic.” Sylvanas mused.

“She must have known it would be unsuccessful,” Jaina stroked her chin in contemplation, “Unless Stormwind was not the main target.”

Genn blanched whiter than his fur in worgen form. “Are you suggesting-“

Loud footsteps echoed in the hallway; skidding to a halt in front of the entryway stood the Kal’dorei’s favored champion, Elenaril. “Azuremyst Isle is nearly overrun. The High Priestess has been grievously wounded.”

“A diversion.” Valeera muttered grimly.

—-

“Well done. With your attempt to assassinate the Lord Admiral and my assault on Stormwind, we’ve orchestrated the perfect diversion.”

“When the Alliance is crushed beneath the might of the Horde and Jaina Proudmoore lays dead at my feet, we will no longer be allies.”

“Just two individuals whose interests happened to align.”

“For now.”

“Of course, Blightcaller. For now.”

—-

Despite extreme temperatures no longer being a discomfort to her, the dry, blistering desert of Durotar was still stifling. Sylvanas glowered the entire way up the steps to Grommash Hold; the surrounding Horde guards doing their best not to look fearful as they saluted her passing. Her title as Warchief forced her to spend an annoyingly large portion of her time in Orgrimmar, and by extension, Durotar. Despite hailing from the ever warm region of Quel’Thalas, the heat was nowhere near as overbearing as here. She would never know how the orcs could tolerate it day to day.

Only a step behind her, Anya looked just as uncomfortable. Her hands behind her in a traditional military pose.

Entering the hold, Sylvanas was met with the figures of Baine and Saurfang eagerly waiting for her. 

“Warchief,” Baine uttered, his horns tilting down in some sort of bow. “As always, it is a pleasure to see you.”

Saurfang did not give her the same level of politeness, merely jerking his head and grunting, “Warchief.”

Anya paused beside the entrance, standing at attention, while Sylvanas made her way further into the room. “I will keep this short. Double patrols around Orgrimmar. I’m sure you have heard about the attack on Stormwind and Azuremyst Isle.”

Baine and Saurfang looked between each other nervously before Saurfang spoke up again. “What of other Horde settlements?”

“I have already sent messengers by mage port to Silvermoon, Suramar, and Zandalar. Nathanos is currently holding my position in Lordaeron and is well informed of the situation at hand, and I trust Baine has already warned us people in Mulgore.”

“I have, my Lady.”

Sylvanas nodded. “Good. Now, onto yet another pressing matter, I trust that the two would refrain from making arrangements to murder my wife, yes?”

“Someone has made an attempt on the Lord Admiral’s life?” Saurfang blurted, nearly losing his balance. 

“Is she unharmed?” Baine questioned, worry evident in his eyes.

Sylvanas eyed them both warily, searching for any sign of deceit. Satisfied that she found none, Sylvanas continued, “Lady Proudmoore remains unharmed and the assailants have been… disposed of. One remains alive, but is too weak to sustain any interrogation. The most curious thing, however, is that the group consisted of Forsaken and Kul Tirans.”

“Her own people? And yours?” Baine muttered to himself.

“I assumed there would still be some who resented her in the role she played in her father’s death-“

Saurfang averted his eyes. He had his own guilts about the death of Daelin Proudmoore.

“-but I was rather vexed that my own  _ loyal _ people would wish harm on my wife.”

Baine tilted his head, horn decorations dangling to the side. “Is there no one we can trust?”

“Have they no honor?” Saurfang growled. “Loyalty becomes more and more fickle as the years pass on.”

“Loyalty is an increasing concern.” Sylvanas emphasized. “Which is why you absolutely must not tell anyone of the attempt. Even those you trust. Loose lips can cost information, or lives.”

—-

In the shadows of Orgrimmar, after night had fallen over the city, a lithe, silhouetted figure dropped silently from the rafters of Grommash Hold and darted out of the city. Across the red dirt of Durotar, she moved. Unseen, she slipped into a small cave at the base of the canyon to find a mage awaiting her. Valeera Sanguinar pulled back her hood before she stepped through the portal.

“An attempt on Jaina Proudmoore’s life.” She mumbled to herself after she reappeared in the cellar of an inn in Stormwind. “It’s getting interesting.”

—-

Nokrogroa tightened the grip of his polearm warily. The noise he heard was not coming from the inside of Jaina’s bedroom; the Lord Admiral had long since retired for the night. Nor was it the Warchief, who, despite returning to Boralus hours ago, had decided not to come to the bedroom to join her wife for the night.

No, the noise was unusual. It was familiar, but the death knight couldn’t place it. And the shadow at the far end of the hall seemed just as unnatural. Shifting his stance into a slightly more defensive one, Nokrogroa mentally prepared himself for the ambush that was sure to come.

Eventually, his patience finally wore thin and he let out a sharp, “Who’s there?”

“Hello, Ann’da.” The shadows melded into a distinctly elven shape, although it was far younger than most, if not all, elves he had known.

“Aurolis?”

For the first time in nearly twelve years, Nokrogroa saw his daughter. She bore a striking resemblance to her mother and her grandmother.

“So you still remember me. Minn’da was so sure you retained little of your memories.”

Nokrogroa wanted to rush forward and sweep his Aurolis into a tight hug. Gush over how much she mirrored his mother in that moment. Tap her nose in a way that made her giggle delightedly. However, he remained at his post, shifting back and forth as he resisted the urge to do so. She was no longer the daughter he remembered. She had grown without his guidance and he wondered if she viewed him as a monster like her mother did.

“I wanted to come back after I broke free from the Lich King.” He said, instead.

“I know.” Her tone was even.

“I was afraid I would never be accepted back into my family.”

“I know. And I resented you for it. Part of me still does; I was left without my father.”

Nokrogroa turned his head away. “I should have returned. Perhaps things would have been different.”

Aurolis shook her head and barked out a humorless laugh. “And what? You wouldn’t have been part of the force that burned down Teldrassil? My mother’s home?  _ My _ home?”

Nokrogroa remained silent. If his helmet did not conceal his face, guilt would be written plainly over it.

“At least you’re not stumbling out a weak excuse.” Aurolis muttered. “One day I hope to forgive you. I hope this peace lasts long enough for that to happen.”

Aurolis turned on a heel and strolled out of the hallway, once again melding into the shadows. A skill Nokrogroa could only guess her mother taught her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we meet the mythical Aurolis Jr. finally.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrande wakes up. Anduin gets worried. Anya and Taelia flirt more. Nokrogroa almost cockblocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, enjoy 6000 words of self indulgence. 
> 
> I literally lost all my self control and wrote this so I apologize for the sudden rating change.

Elenaril watched anxiously as Malfurion Stormrage paced in front of the medical tent. The Archdruid was rightfully concerned about the extent of his wife’s injuries. So was Elenaril. High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind had been a light, a beacon of hope for Kaldorei like Elenaril for millennia, even after the loss of Teldrassil. 

After the burning for the world tree, the night elves still had some hope, some leadership in Tyrande and Malfurion, but that hope was strained. The injuries Tyrande sustained from the Naga were grievous. Looking up to the moon, Elenaril whispered a small prayer to Elune that the High Priestess would make a full recovery.

“Good evening, Minn’da.” A young, feminine voice said in Darnassian.

Not turning around, Elenaril narrowed her eyes at the sound of the voice. “Where have you been, Aurolis?”

Aurolis gave her mother a bored sigh. “Does it matter? How fares the High Priestess?”

“There has been no changes to her current state. As far as I know.” Elenaril looked back at her daughter sharply. “And don’t try to change the subject. Where have you been?”

Aurolis gave a small secretive smile, her ears perking up in mirth. “Out.”

“ _ Auro- _ “

“Sightseeing.” She gestured to the hat on her head. “Like the souvenir? I stole it off some sailor.”

“You went to Kul Tiras.” Elenaril said, realization coloring her voice. She left her next question unvoiced. They both knew who was currently residing in the small island nation.

Aurolis toyed with the hilt of a dagger in her belt. “I wouldn’t say Ann’da was very happy to see me.”

Elenaril could assess that just by looking at him all those weeks ago in Dalaran. He seemed emotionless. A blank slate. Like whatever Arthas has done to him wiped him of all feeling and left the cold shell of the person she loved. Stripped him of his connection to the elements and forced frost and shadow instead. Of course he would not be happy to see his own blood; he was a monster now.

“He did not attempt to harm you?”

“I did not pose a threat to the Lord Admiral or the Warchief. He had no reason.” Aurolis leaned against a tree, crossing her arms. “Don’t worry. He wasn’t angry; he was sorrowful, actually.”

Elenaril gritted her teeth, her lip curling up to reveal an elven fang. “Does he expect pity from me? He serves the Banshee Queen.”

“He seemed genuinely remorseful. Not just for Teldrassil, but for never coming home.”

Elenaril could almost see his reasoning. He left his family behind on what was practically a suicide mission and was raised into the very thing he sought to destroy. Forced into servitude by the Lich King and his Scourge. Viewed as a monster by his own people who loved and accepted him. Elenaril almost felt pity for him, but she was convinced he truly did not retain any of his personality. Nokrogroa blindly followed the woman who put the torch to their home. It seemed that his orcish side lacked the code of honor that came with most orcs (bar Garrosh Hellscream and a few honorable mentions) and his morals relied heavily on the High Elf in him.

Elenaril turned her head back towards the tent where Malfurion was now peeking his head inside and conversing with a Draenei holy paladin. “If your father craves forgiveness, he must prove he deserves it.”

Aurolis followed her gaze to the tent. “I’m not sure forgiveness is what he’s seeking.”

“Everyone wants forgiveness, little one.” Elenaril muttered, fully aware that Aurolis’ elvish hearing would pick it up. “It makes people feel decent about their actions.”

Aurolis elected not to respond and gave a noncommittal shrug.

“How did you manage to get to Boralus, anyway?”

“Mage port.”

Shaking her head, Elenaril watched as Malfurion entered the tent with all the haste a millennia old Druid could muster. “I’m beginning to think those Dalaran mages are beginning to become a terrible influence on you.”

“As terrible as you? I think I inherited a few kleptomaniac tendencies from you.” Aurolis joked, running a finger along the trim of her stolen hat.

Elenaril rolled her eyes, but did not reply, instead choosing to watch the tent that held Tyrande Whisperwind. Suddenly, a wave of Kaldorei flooded around the tent. Relief and excitement visible on their face. From the shadows inside the tent, the two could see a stirring on the cot.

“The High Priestess is awake.” They heard a voice exclaim from the crowd.

“Thank you, Elune.” Elenaril whispered to herself.

—-

“Who else knows of this?”

Valeera leaned back, resting on just one leg of the chair. “Saurfang, Bloodhoof, a Dark Ranger, and the Lord Admiral herself. Possibly more that I don’t know the identities of.”

Anduin continued pacing the table. “I’m not surprised that the Forsaken have made an attempt on Jaina’s life, but her own people…”

Valeera let out a puff of air, ear flicking in disinterest. “There are those who still resent Lady Proudmoore for the death of her father.”

“Perhaps. Part of me believes there is more to this than a few dissenters.”

“I can do some private investigation if you prefer, High King.”

“I was considering discussing this with Shaw and his SI:7 agents.”

“No disrespect, High King, but that isn’t one of your brightest ideas.” Valeera said.

Anduin laid his hands on the table between them and crooked an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“For an organization of spies, they aren’t very secretive. Matters like this require a more personal touch.”

Anduin let out a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Stay out of trouble, Valeera.”

“I’ll try.”

—-

Dinner with her mother was always an interesting affair.

Far to Jaina’s left sat Tandred, who was rather occupied with cracking terrible jokes between bites of his fisherman’s pie. Derek sat beside him, discreetly kicking his younger brother under the table when his jokes got too raunchy. Taelia had joined the family for dinner for the first time in weeks, but was very engaged in ogling Anya, who was standing guard by the door. Next to the Dark Ranger, Nokrogroa pretended he didn’t notice the looks Anya and Taelia were giving each other, instead, electing to stand at perfect attention. Katherine Proudmoore paid no mind to the quiet chaos around the table, instead focusing her gaze directly on the meal in front of her.

Across from the Proudmoore matriarch, sat Jaina, with Sylvanas to her right. The Warchief had been giving Jaina a wide berth of space as of late, doing everything in her power to ensure the two did not come into physical contact in any way. Sylvanas paid Jaina no mind as she ran a finger along the rim of a wine glass, the food in front of her untouched. Sylvanas no longer retained her need for sustenance, but she said nothing of it to the server who laid down a plate in front of her.

In fact, Sylvanas hadn’t said much of anything for the entire day outside of what was necessary. Or she had just not said anything in the presence of Jaina.

Jaina gripped her wine glass tightly as she took a sip out of it. It was getting extremely frustrating to have her own wife avoid her like the Blight. Perhaps Taelia was onto something when she said Jaina would have to be the one to confront the Warchief.

Taelia stood suddenly from her seat and laid her napkin neatly on the table. “I shall retire for the night. Goodnight.” Taelia not-so-subtly let her hand brush against Anya’s arm as she passed by, flashing her a rakish grin.

After a few minutes, Anya turned to Sylvanas. “Dark Lady, permission to return to the barracks?”

Sylvanas looked up to the doorway at Anya for a moment before replying. “Granted.”.

Tandred looked like he was bursting to make a comment as he watched Anya speed after Taelia, but elected to remain quiet after he noticed the glare his mother was giving him over her wine glass.

“Their relationship escalated quickly, didn’t it?”

Sylvanas said nothing in response, but Jaina could see the minuscule her smirk out the corner of her eye.

Jaina let out a sigh and turned to face Katherine. “The Warchief and I will also be settling down for the evening.”

Sylvanas didn’t protest and instead let Jaina drag her out of her seat and usher her out of the doorway. When they were far enough down the corridor, Sylvanas yanked her arm out of the mage’s grip and crossed her arms. “What do you want, Proudmoore?”

The bored expression on Sylvanas’ face was so utterly infuriating that Jaina was forced to close her eyes and count backwards before she immolated the banshee right then.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina gritted out between her teeth, “You can’t just keep ignoring me.”

Sylvanas let out a condescending sniff. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That! Right there.” Jaina sputtered out, hands flailing in exasperation. “You can’t keep pretending you didn’t kiss me. You can’t pretend that we haven’t been affectionate towards each other.”

“Actually, Proudmoore, I can and I will.” Sylvanas straightened her cape and turned away from Jaina. “I suggest you turn in for the night. It’s getting rather late.”

Fed up, Jaina grabbed Sylvanas’ arm again, causing the Banshee to whirl her head in the mage’s direction. “Proudmo-“

Before Sylvanas could finish her sentence, Jaina silenced her with a kiss. The Banshee stood unnaturally still, but made no indication of moving away. The moment Jaina’s hand fell away from her arm and she pulled back to gasp out an apology, Sylvanas snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her in for another kiss. Jaina instantly melted into the embrace, bringing her hands up to push Sylvanas’ hood off, and carefully guide the elf’s ears out of their-

“Ahem.”

Sylvanas pulled away suddenly, Jaina mustering every bit of self control not to chase after her lips. Wincing slightly, she glanced over her shoulder to see Nokrogroa standing there sheepishly. Despite his sheer height and abundance of plate armor he donned, he visibly wilted at the glare Sylvanas was currently giving him.

“What is it, Champion?”

The death knight tightened his grip on his polearm. “My Queen, you ordered me to keep watch on the Lord Admiral due to...” He trailed off, glowing blue eyes darting to the darkest corners of the hallway as if searching for listeners.

Sylvanas untangled herself from Jaina and took a sizable step back. “I did say that, didn’t I?” She mused to herself.

As irritated as she was about the interruption, Jaina couldn’t muster up the heart to be angry at Nokrogroa for following his orders. Who knows how far things would’ve escalated if he wasn’t there to remind them that they were standing in one of the main hallways inside a populated keep. Jaina made a mental note to thank him later.

“Would you escort us to our quarters, Nokrogroa?” Jaina gave the death knight a friendly smile.

Nokrogroa tilted his helmeted head. “Of course, my Lady.”

The walk to the bedroom was stiflingly silent. While Jaina was burning bright red in embarrassment of having been caught making out with her wife like they were teenagers, Sylvanas remained stoic, making no indication that she was in any way uncomfortable. Jaina silently thanked the Tides Nokrogroa was wearing his helmet. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to handle whatever awkward expression he was most likely pulling.

“Champion,” Sylvanas turned slightly to face Nokrogroa. “You may return to the barracks tonight. There’s no need to remain guard outside the door. I will be with the Lord Admiral for the rest of the night.”

“Aye, my Queen.” Giving his traditional Orcish salute, Nokrogroa sped down the hallway at a speed that rivaled a Kul Tiran stallion.

Sylvanas tilted her head towards the door. “After you, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Jaina.” The mage said, rolling her eyes with a grin.

“Of course,” Sylvanas whispered in Jaina’s ear, following close behind the mage with a hand pressed against the small of her back. “After you,  _ Jaina. _ ”

Jaina barely suppressed a shudder as she felt Sylvanas’ cool breath on her ear. Stepping ahead of Sylvanas, she turned around on a heel and came face to face with the Banshee. “Wait. We actually do need to talk.”

Between the path open mouthed kisses Sylvanas began along Jaina’s jawline, she mumbled, “Then talk.”

It took exactly six seconds for Jaina to have another coherent thought when she felt the dangerous edge of Sylvanas’ fang rest on the area between her jaw and her neck. The press of her cool lips brought goosebumps to Jaina’s skin.

“ _ Sylvanas… _ ”

The Warchief pressed a smirk against Jaina’s neck and one of her ears twitched playfully. “You have my full attention, Proudmoore.” She reached up to loosen Jaina’s braid, letting the gold streaked white hair fall over her shoulders.

Jaina let out a small huff, mustering up enough control to gently push Sylvanas away. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I really do want to talk to you first.”

The Banshee brought her hand up to cup Jaina’s face, rubbing her cheek with a thumb. She glanced down at the mage’s lips again, but this time she took a step back and dropped her hand to her side. “I’m listening.”

“We need to have a great deal of-” Jaina gestured her hands vaguely, searching for the words to say. “-honesty with each other. If this relationship is to become something more than just a political union.”

Sylvanas leaned back and searched Jaina’s face for a moment, her expression inscrutable. “Honesty.” She repeated simply.

“Yes. Honesty. Specifically emotional honesty. I don’t think much good would come of it if we can hardly trust each other, much less ourselves.”

Sylvanas took a seat on the desk near the edge of the room. “What do you want to know?”

“What?” Jaina questioned, raising an eyebrow, “I thought  _ you  _ had something you wanted to ask me.”

Sylvanas tilted her head curiously. “Alright, Proudmoore. Your relationship with my sister?”

“Was real. And brief. And was not serious.”

“Interesting. And your relationship to the former Warchief?”

“It ended when the person he put in charge vaporized my city.” Jaina crossed her arms. “I have a question for you.”

“I will answer,” Sylvanas paused for a moment. “With honesty.”

“Were you… are you jealous?”

Sylvanas’ grip on the wood below her tightened, but her posture was more than casual. “Perhaps a minuscule amount.”

“Right, minuscule. Why did you kiss me only to avoid me for days?”

“Why do you ask, Proudmoore?” Sylvanas moved to stand, but Jaina’s serious glare kept her in place.

“It pissed me off to no end, so I’d very much like an answer.”

“The living are fickle.” Sylvanas said simply. “Unsure of what they want and are in the habit of leaving others behind when they eventually figure it out.”

“You were living once before. Did you believe yourself to be fickle as Ranger-General?”

“Was I fickle and far too self absorbed? Yes.” Sylvanas let out a sad smile, pushing herself off the desk to pace the length of the room. “I’ve always wondered what I would say to the Ranger-General Windrunner now. Would I tell her that her defense of Quel’Thalas would turn futile? That the Prince of Lordaeron would slaughter her people before her very eyes. That he would rob her of the clean death she craved and nearly break her. How her chance at an afterlife where she would see her mother and her brother again would be ground to dust before her? She would never discover who her father was. Her own sisters would view her as the monster Arthas made of her.” Sylvanas looked back over her shoulder at Jaina. “She would call me a trickster. A liar. She wouldn’t believe it. Then she would proceed to make the exact same mistakes again. Does that answer your question, Proudmoore?”

“Believe or not, I understand your reasoning. I have endless regrets too, but…” Jaina took a few steps until she came face to face with Sylvanas. Straightening the folds of her hood, Jaina looked up into the Banshee’s eyes. “I’m alive. Do you believe I’m fickle?”

“Not at all.”

“What about when I was younger? When I was just the apprentice mage Kael’thas Sunstrider attempted to court?”

Sylvanas wrapped both her arms around Jaina’s waist and pulled her closer. “From the looks you were giving me, I gather you knew exactly what you wanted.”

“I did. I still do. And I’m in a position to have it this time. I care less about the scrutiny of the public now.”

Sylvanas’ ear flicked playfully while she trailed a leather-clad finger along Jaina’s jawline. She leaned in close, her lips barely brushing the other woman’s, “Then why haven’t you taken it?”

Jaina inhaled sharply as she felt a pulse through her body that ended at her core. She squeezed her thighs suddenly very aware of how slick it was between her legs. She tugged at the armor Sylvanas was still clad in. “I need this off. Right fucking now.”

Sylvanas gave a fanged grin that made Jaina’s heart skip a beat, and stepped back to work at the straps holding her pauldrons in place. “As you wish, Jaina.”

The mage watched with unbridled interest has Sylvanas pulled off her pauldrons with ease and revealed cuts of muscle along surprisingly broad shoulders. The way her pale blonde hair fell over those shoulders when Sylvanas removed her hood nearly made Jaina’s mouth water. Perhaps those countless years of archery had done Sylvanas a lot of good.

When Jaina reached out a hand to help Sylvanas along, the banshee stepped out of her reach. “Patience, Lord Admiral. Have a seat and enjoy the view.”

A feeling of defiance flashed through Jaina. How dare Sylvanas demand patience from her after she practically evaded the mage’s presence for days? The look Sylvanas gave Jaina as she reached for the straps that held together her breastplate made Jaina swallow back her bravado and sit down on the bed behind her. She watched in awe and uninhibited admiration as the armor fell away to reveal wrappings of cloth around Sylvanas’ breasts. Jaina ran her tongue along her lips when her eyes trailed down to find Sylvanas’ beautifully toned stomach. Sylvanas rose her head to meet Jaina’s gaze and strode towards her.

Tides, the way her hips were swaying had to be intentional,  _ right _ ?

Before she knew it, Jaina’s vision was filled with Sylvanas and she was only vaguely aware of the banshee’s unnaturally cool body pressing her down into the mattress. “Your turn.” Sylvanas purred as she reached to untie the cravat of Jaina’s Lord Admiral uniform.

Once Jaina’s mind caught up with her, she worked post haste to help Sylvanas free her from the rest of her clothing. Her leather padded boots thudded to the floor as she kicked them off. She reached her hands down beside Sylvanas’ to assist in pulling down her wool breeches.

“Eager, Proudmoore?”

“Quiet.” Jaina muttered as she pulled the Warchief into a deep kiss by the back of her neck.

When she felt Sylvanas’ fangs catch on her bottom lip Jaina couldn’t suppress the whimper that left her throat. And the way the banshee’s hips rolled into hers expertly -  _ gods _ , it was perfect.

If Jaina could tell herself nearly two decades ago that she would be bedding that high elven Ranger-General of Silvermoon that had caught her eye; that she would be married to a woman her former betrothed had killed and raised, she would have laughed in her own face. Yet, here she was. That same Ranger-General, now turned Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, Warchief of the Horde trailing her fingers along Jaina’s stomach underneath her tunic.

Sylvanas rested her fangs along Jaina’s collarbone, pausing briefly to silently ask permission.

“Yes.” Jaina gasped out, gripping the bicep of the arm cradling her head. 

Jaina let out a quiet groan as she felt Sylvanas’ fangs worrying a bruise in her collarbone. She felt a huff of air waft over it as the banshee let out a low chuckle. Jaina opened her mouth to let out a cutting remark, but it became a gasp when Sylvanas’ thigh pressed between her legs. She desperately rocked her hips upward, losing her mind at the combination of friction and Sylvanas’ tongue along her neck.

“Sylvanas…” Jaina whimpered finally.

The Warchief let out a grin against Jaina’s neck, then finally relented her ministrations, bracing herself with one arm beside Jaina’s head and reaching down with her hand to pull up the edge of her shirt. Jaina immediately caught the hint and sat up slightly to assist in Sylvanas pulling her shirt over her head. The banshee’s eyes, shining with something akin to hunger, roamed Jaina’s figure under her. Descending on a breast, Sylvanas took up a nipple under her tongue. The sensation was so perfect, and the way those fangs grazed her mound had her pressing her head back into her pillow desperately.

Sylvanas surged up suddenly to give Jaina a slow, deep kiss, her hand splaying along the mage’s stomach as she inched it closer and closer to the waistband of her underwear. Jaina moved her hand from Sylvanas shoulder to reach down and urge her to pull down her underwear. 

“As you wish, Jaina.” Sylvanas purred.

She slid her hand fully down the front of Jaina’s underwear to run a finger lightly over the slickness between those blonde curls, coaxing a quiet moan.

When Sylvanas’ finger brushed her clit, Jaina had to break away from the kiss, clutching the banshee’s shoulders tightly and letting out a shuddering breath. Jaina’s head fell back on her pillow again and she let out another as Sylvanas’ deft fingers ghosted over her entrance, dipping in only slightly before returning to run along that sensitive nub. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaina whispered. “Absolutely fucking terrible.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to tell me that.”

With her other hand, Sylvanas brushed Jaina’s hair back from her shoulder and leaned down to nibble along the ridge of her ear and the place where her jaw and her neck met. After what had felt like hours, Sylvanas finally buried two cool fingers inside Jaina, causing the mage to buck her hips up at the sensation. The sensation was familiar, yet so unfamiliar at the same time. The Warchief curled her fingers suddenly, causing a shout to spill forth from Jaina’s lips.

Jaina reached her hand down to grasp Sylvanas’ wrist, urging her to begin a rhythm.

Sylvanas tsked against Jaina’s neck. “Do exercise a bit of patience, Proudmoore.” She reprimanded in Thalassian. It took a few more seconds than usual for Jaina to understand the meaning of her words due to the heady feeling of Sylvanas’ fingers.

“I’m beginning to think you’re all talk, Windrunner,” Jaina gritted out in Common. “Get to work or get out.”

Sylvanas curled her fingers again, nearly making Jaina see stars. “I believe the last thing you want is for me to leave you like this.” 

Jaina did not deign to reply to Sylvanas. Despite the Warchief reading her so easily, she would never forsake her dignity and confirm the claim.

Sylvanas gave Jaina another deep kiss and set a pace, thrusting her fingers in and out of the mage. Jaina’s grip on her shoulders tightened, raking her nails across Sylvanas’ skin, her hips rolling to the pace of the banshee’s fingers. Every time Sylvanas’ fingers fully hilted inside of her, she curled them wickedly.

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Jaina whimpered out, the word rising in pitch as Sylvanas crooked her fingers again and angled her hand so her thumb could brush against Jaina’s clit.

Sylvanas ran her tongue along the side of Jaina’s neck before settling her teeth on the skin. The mere threat of her fangs caused the mage to buck her hips, making the area between her thighs impossibly wetter. Sylvanas sunk her teeth down slowly, adding suction until another bruise formed, contrasting against Jaina’s pale skin. She crooned something in Thalassian to Jaina, then nipped at her earlobe. Too far gone to understand what she said, Jaina tilted her head to draw Sylvanas into a kiss, letting out soft moans into her mouth.

Before she knew it, Jaina’s orgasm was fast approaching. Sensing this, Sylvanas sped up the pace of her fingers, coaxing even louder whimpers from the mage. Jaina’s vision blurred and she opened her mouth in a silent scream, going incredibly still as her orgasm hit her, only trembling as Sylvanas slowed down, drawing out the feeling for what felt like an eternity. Sylvanas kept her pace agonizingly slow as she elicited every last quiver from her, until Jaina was pushing her arm away for reprieve from her overstimulated nerves.

After she had caught her breath, Jaina let her head fall back onto the pillow. “I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

Sylvanas let out a huff of laughter. “You’re going to make me even more vain.”

“Gods forbid I do. You need a lesson in humility.”

Sylvanas simply hummed in response, resting her head on Jaina’s shoulder.

After Jaina’s body eventually stopped shivering, Sylvanas pulled her hand from inside Jaina’s underwear, causing the mage to shudder at the feeling of the Sylvanas’ fingers sliding along her. Feeling raw and vulnerable, Jaina could only watch in silence as the Warchief sat up to straddle her and bring her fingers to her lips, tongue darting out to taste her fluids. As Sylvanas wiped the rest on the bedsheets beside them, Jaina couldn’t stop herself from surging forward and pulling the banshee into a deep kiss, relishing in her own taste on Sylvanas’ tongue.

Jaina pushed Sylvanas’ shoulder lightly and the banshee obeyed the silent command, rolling off of her and onto her back. Jaina wasted no time clambering over Sylvanas until she was straddling her, mirroring their position from only a moment ago in reverse. “Your turn,” She announced, echoing Sylvanas’ earlier words.

The banshee merely raised a tufted eyebrow and placed her hands on Jaina’s waist, staying silent as Jaina leaned down to trail a line of kisses along her jaw. She wasn’t sure if Sylvanas’ lack of reaction was due to an extreme amount of self discipline or atrophied nerves due to undeath, but she was determined to discover the answer through trial and error.

Jaina found a small speck of success when she finally undid those cloth wrapping across Sylvanas’ upper torso. The first thing she saw was the large, jagged scar left behind by Frostmourne. Jaina grimaced for a moment at the brutality of Arthas’ actions, but this was not about the past. Refocusing her attention, Jaina’s thumb brushed along a nipple lightly and she could’ve sworn Sylvanas had taken the smallest, unneeded gasp for air. If she wasn’t listening so intently for it, she would have missed it entirely. Sylvanas ears pinned back against her head in annoyance when she noticed the victorious smile Jaina was currently sporting.

“Don’t become too complacent, Proudmoore. You have yet to impress me.” Sylvanas purred.

“I’m not looking for your approval.” Jaina leaned down to nibble alone the pointed edge of Sylvanas ear, her tongue flicking out along the tip.

Sylvanas fingers dug slightly into Jaina’s hips, but she gave no other indication that the act affected her at all. Jaina nudged Sylvanas cheek with her nose until the banshee finally tilted her head, giving Jaina full access to kiss along her neck. When she bit down especially hard, she felt Sylvanas’ hips roll into hers subtly.

“ _ Proudmoore _ -“ Sylvanas started.

Jaina leaned back up and placed her hands around Sylvanas’ abdomen, tracing the lines of her stomach with her thumbs. “Didn’t I tell you to call me Jaina?”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas conceded, giving her an unreadable look. “You do not need to do this for me.”

“I want to. Unless you don’t want me to.” Jaina declared.

The elf stayed silent for a moment before she said, “I do want you to.”

Jaina smiled and reached her hand down to unlace Sylvanas’ breeches. “Then I will for you.”

Sylvanas kept her mouth shut as she watched Jaina shift back to straddle her calves and slide her breeches down her thighs. The mage couldn’t help herself from running her hands along the strong, thick cuts of muscles that made up Sylvanas’ legs. The woman under her shifted her legs subtly when Jaina’s hands reached her inner thigh.

“When was the last time someone touched you like this?” Jaina hummed, leaning down to press her lips to Sylvanas’ lightly. 

“I admit,” Sylvanas began, pausing briefly when she felt Jaina’s finger toy along the waistband of her underwear. “I admit that it has been a vast amount of time since I have been intimate with someone.”

Jaina laughed. A true genuine laugh that surprised even herself. She looked down at Sylvanas, cupping her cheek with her hand. She had just had the best orgasm of her life, yet the one who gave it to her was out of practice? It was preposterous, but quite endearing. Jaina absently ran her thumb along Sylvanas’ lips before voicing her suspicions.

“Nathanos?”

If Sylvanas could blanch, she would have. “ _ Belore _ , no. I’m offended you believe I would be ever intimate with a man.”

“I didn’t think so, but you never know.” Jaina began pulling Sylvanas underwear down her hips. “So, who was it?” 

“This conversation seems rather irrelevant as of right now.”

Jaina grinned, shifting to straddle only one of Sylvanas legs. “Impatient.”

The elf stayed silent, bending her leg at the knee to give the hand currently tracing up her inner thigh more access. Jaina leaned down to draw Sylvanas into another deep kiss, the banshee’s hands sliding to grip the soft skin of Jaina’s thighs. The Lord Admiral paused in rubbing along the crease of Sylvanas’ thigh, her eyes closing and her mouth hanging open slightly as Sylvanas’ thigh pressed upwards.

“This - This isn’t about me, Sylvanas. It’s your turn.” Jaina stuttered out, holding back the urge to rock against Sylvanas thigh with all the self control she could muster.

“I don’t know what you mean, Jaina.” Sylvanas responded with faux innocence. “I’m simply adjusting so I can be more comfortable.”

“Sure.”

Jaina trailed her finger slowly between Sylvanas’ folds, nearly moaning at the surprising amount of slickness to be found. “I see what you mean by replacing fluids.”

When Jaina looked back up, wondering why Sylvanas didn’t reply, she found the banshee had closed her eyes; her head leaning back in the pillow and her lips parted, the pointed tips of her fangs exposed.

She was beautiful. In this moment, Jaina knew she would follow her to the ends of the Universe if she asked.

She slid her fingers in a slow rhythm over Sylvanas’ clit, watching the way her ears pressed tightly against the sides of her head. Jaina could feel the way Sylvanas’ strong thigh flexed under her. The short breaths she was taking despite no longer needing to breathe. Her fingers digging themselves into Jaina’s own thighs. All of this encouraged Jaina to push a finger inside Sylvanas, keeping the same pace she had.

She was rewarded with a hitch of unneeded breath and a shudder, compelling her to add another finger. With her free hand, Jaina trailed her fingertips up the side of Sylvanas’ neck and lightly tugged at the base of her ear. “You seem rather impressed.”

It took Sylvanas a few seconds to respond. “Nothing I haven’t experienced before, I assure you.”

“Oh?” Jaina queried. After a few more pumps of her finger, she removed them and began to kiss down Sylvanas’ chest, laying a particularly tender one on the scar Frostmourne had left behind. 

“What are you doing?” Sylvanas removed her hands from Jaina’s thighs and sat up on her elbows to watch Jaina’s descent.

“You’ll find out.” Jaina planted a line of kisses down her stomach, pausing to run her tongue along the path of fine hairs beneath Sylvanas’ naval. “Now lie back and relax.”

Sylvanas watched her for a brief moment before lowering herself back down to lie against the pillow. As Jaina sidled lower grazing her teeth along Sylvanas inner thigh, she felt the elf’s fingers slide into her dual-toned tresses. Emboldened with newfound confidence, Jaina trailed kisses up Sylvanas’ inner thighs until she met the pale blonde curls. She ran her tongue along Sylvanas’ center, discovering a flavor that was a pleasant mix of bitter and sweet and reminiscent of the sharp taste of steel.

When her tongue brushed the banshee’s clit, Sylvanas’s fingers tightened in her hair, tugging slightly. Jaina looked up to see her throat bob as she swallowed back a noise. “How’s that?”

Despite the trembling in Sylvanas’ body, her voice was strong and smooth. “Good girl. Consider me impressed.”

Jaina flushed red from her chest to her ears, highlighting her freckles. The praise surprised her in ways that were embarrassingly not negative. She redoubled her efforts, taking measured laps at Sylvanas’ clit and burying two fingers in her once again.

Sylvanas’ fingers scraped her scalp again as she subtly pushed Jaina’s head down. Jaina obliged, speeding up and thrusting her fingers at the previous pace. Soon, Sylvanas’ short breaths became far more audible, her hands tugging at the hair on the back of Jaina’s head. She wrapped a leg around Jaina, digging her heel into the mage’s back.

Suddenly, Sylvanas’ body went unnaturally still, save for a few trembles. The breaths she was taking ceased. “ _ Jaina, _ ” She gasped out once before her body relaxed, fingers tangled in Jaina’s hair loosening.

Jaina pulled her fingers out slowly, pressing heated kisses up Sylvanas’ body every time she quivered.

Sylvanas opened her eyes to Jaina’s face filling her vision. She reached up to brush the glistening of her own fluids from Jaina’s chin before pulling her down into a deep kiss. Sylvanas hands trailed upwards to cup Jaina’s cheeks. The mage wrapped a hand gingerly around Sylvanas’ long ear, heat from her hand warming up the skin nearly instantly.

When Jaina’s vision started swimming with a lack of oxygen, she reluctantly pulled away, taking heaving breaths. The exhaustion finally settling in, she shifted halfway off Sylvanas to rest her head on her shoulder and drape her arm around her waist. Sylvanas brought her around Jaina’s shoulder, brushing her hair out of her face. “Thank you, Jaina.”

Jaina tightened the arm around Sylvanas’ waist, rubbing a thumb on her hip bone. “I should be thanking you. That was wonderful.”

“No,” Sylvanas stated, turning her head to press a kiss to Jaina’s forehead. “You reminded me of something I thought I lost with death.”

“I could’ve stopped him.” Jaina reached her arm up to trail her finger along the scar that was created by Frostmourne. Sylvanas stiffened, but made no move to shift away from Jaina’s touch or stop her. “Then none of this would have happened.”

Sylvanas gently grasped Jaina’s wrist. “Do not blame yourself for that man’s actions. It was not your responsibility to save him from himself.”

Jaina buried her face in Sylvanas neck, inhaling the scent of tulips and steel. The fingers combing through her hair bringing her to the brink of sleep. She couldn’t help but still feel responsible for the crimes Arthas committed. If she had tried harder, he wouldn’t have slaughtered and raised all those who she grew to care about. Anya, Nokrogroa, the messenger who called her ‘missus Warchief’ when he delivered reports to Sylvanas.

Sylvanas seemed to sense her lost in thought. “I can practically hear your brain whirring.” She reached up with her hand to tuck a few loose strands behind Jaina’s ear.

“I can’t help it.” Jaina murmured against the skin of Sylvanas’ shoulder. “Cons of being a studious mage.”

Sylvanas reached to pull the blanket over them. “You need rest.” She said simply.

Jaina pressed her face deeper into Sylvanas’ neck. “Maybe you’re right. Goodnight, Sylvanas.”

The last thing Jaina remembered was Sylvanas fingers slowly combing through her hair and that echoey voice saying, “Sweet dreams, Jaina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think WAP has affected us all.
> 
> This is my first smut scene ever so I hope y’all enjoy.
> 
> The Little Things Give You Away fun fact: Nokrogroa and the report delivery Forsaken guy are actually decent friends and will spend time having friendly chatter if they happen to bump into each other.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valeera can’t mind her business. Jaina and Sylvanas are practically rabbits. Sylvanas goes back on her bullshit. Jaina is nosy. Katherine is also nosy. Lekar becomes friends with turtles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello. I once again lack self control, but this time I bring more plot. I hope you enjoy. This is my favorite chapter I’ve written so far.

Normally, Valeera wasn’t one for interrogation, but desperate times called for desperate measures. After an embarrassingly small amount of investigating, she found the cellars under Proudmoore keep housed the one remaining assassin she had heard about. 

He was a rather pitiful looking thing, the Kul Tiran currently sprawled behind the bars of the holding cell. She wondered how he was even still alive due to the fact that he looked like he had been nearly cleaved in two by what Anya could only assume was that one death knight’s massive axe (or was it a scythe). Valeera knew Kul Tirans were a hardy lot, far tougher than other humans she had known, but at some point, everyone needed to succumb to injuries. She had seen far lesser wounds kill a person.

It was rather suspicious, (and fascinating) to her that she had not found someone currently guarding the cell of a traitor who had made an attempt on the life of a Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, but perhaps she was reading far too into this. There were not many who could be trusted with such a task and it didn’t seem like the man was coherent enough to even stand. 

Goosebumps prickled when the feeling of being  _ watched  _ washed over her. How she was being watched, she was unsure; unless whoever was watching her was almost as skilled as she was in espionage. Valeera made no attempt to acknowledge she was aware of being spotted, instead, mulling over her head at who it could possibly be lurking in the shadows with her.

Her first thought immediately flew to the Ranger-Lord, Nathanos Blightcaller, though she ruled that thought out as soon as it came. As skilled as he was, there were very few humans who could pull off such a thing, and she very much doubted Tess Greymane or Vanessa Vancleef would take an interest in the seemingly non-descript cellars of Proudmoore Keep. And he was currently residing in Lordaeron, cleaning the Blight that was unleashed during the siege of Lordaeron.

Her second thought was another spy like her, but, as far as she knew, she was the only one (besides the High King and the Lord Admiral) who knew of the attack. Her third and final thought led her to believe that one of Sylvanas’ Dark Rangers was lurking around her, ready to strike if she dared pose any kind of threat to their only source of information.

Her questions were answered when she felt a dagger press through her throat and an unnaturally cool hand grasping the arm she was trying to inch towards her dagger. “And who are you?” She wondered allowed.

“It’s not proper etiquette to question the person who has a dagger to your throat, Sanguinar.”

The accent was lilting, Valeera immediately recognizing it to be High Elven. “You know me?”

“I know of you.”

“Well,” Valeera said, throwing her hands up to show she had no intention of reaching for her dagger. “I promise I will not cause harm to… whoever this is. Perhaps we could exchange information.”

The woman behind her paused for a moment before releasing Valeera and withdrawing her dagger. “My name is Kalira Daywhisper.”

Valeera turned her head to find what she could only assume was a Dark Ranger staring back at her. The first thing that drew her gaze was the rather long and gruesome scar splitting her eyebrow, the long ear on that side of the head shorter than the other ear, indicating she had lost a portion of it in some past battle. Spilling down her shoulder from under her hood was hair that was so pale blonde, it almost looked white in the dim lighting.

“I wish we could meet under better circumstances, but alas, there always some extenuating circumstance.” Valeera looked back down to the man laying on the floor. “Is this the only living one? How is he even still alive?”

“The only one left, unfortunately.” Kalira shrugged, sheathing her dagger. “I’m not even sure how he’s holding on considering he can barely keep down a healing potion.”

“You haven’t had the chance to question him?”

“He hasn’t been conscious enough for it.” The Dark Ranger said simply.

“If healing potions aren’t doing the trick, why haven’t you brought a healer down?” Valeera questioned, placing a hand on her hip.

“Currently, the pool of people we can trust is very slim. There’s not many healers, if any, that fall within that range.” Kalira supplied.

Valeera tapped her chin. “I  _ was _ planning on doing so searching around Kul Tiras…”

“You would probably have more success if you did.” Kalira crossed her arms and sneered in the direction of the prisoner. “They’re not as accommodating to someone with my… condition.”

“Bigots will be bigots. How are you doing on the Forsaken side of the investigation?”

“Our efforts have been fruitless so far, but if something comes up, I will be sure to inform you.”

“For the safety of the Lord Admiral, yes?” Valeera offered, sticking her hand out in a sloppily ranger handshake. “And the pact?”

Kalira raised her unmarred eyebrow at the proffered hand for a moment before reaching to grasp the other woman’s forearm, completing the handshake. “For the safety of my Queen’s consort and the pact.”

—-

Loud rapping at the bedroom door made Sylvanas eyes snap open. She wasn’t asleep, of course; she didn’t need it, preferring to stay vigilant even when resting. Jaina was draped three quarters of the way over her now, hair spilling all over Sylvanas’ chest and a leg thrown up over her hips. The way the sun spilled in from the windows framed Jaina perfectly, from her mess of hair to the way the blanket half slid of her in the night. A lovely sight.

Sylvanas frowned.

She had once again given into weakness. Into those festering emotions - that  _ fondness _ she had begun to grow for Proudmoore. It could be a hindrance one day. Something that put her life, and many others at risk. Even Jaina’s life. This newfound relationship was so incredibly easy to exploit, it was rather ridiculous. 

But it gave her something she hadn’t felt in years. A warm, rather irritating feeling in the center of her chest. That willingness to do anything for Jaina. She would run off and fight N’Zoth while armed with only Deathwhisper if Jaina had merely mentioned it.

The rapping against the door sounded once again and Sylvanas was internally grateful at the distraction from the from the dangerous route her thoughts were heading.

She pushed at Jaina’s shoulder lightly, eliciting a grumble. “Proudmoore.”

“Just a few more minutes.” Jaina mumbled, voice full of sleep and she buried her face deeper into Sylvanas’ neck. “They can wait.”

Sylvanas took Jaina up into her arms again, mirroring the tender and gentle embrace from the night before - and dumped her unceremoniously on the bed beside them before surging up to pull her tunic and breeches on. “Unfortunately, they can’t.”

Jaina huffed, voice still full of sleep and pulled the blanket over her head. “Well, I hope they at least brought coffee.”

Sylvanas opened the door to see Nathanos standing, with Nokrogroa in tow; the Ranger-Lord’s arm raised to prepare to knock again. He raised an eyebrow in her slightly disheveled state before his eyes wandered past her to the lump that was Jaina on the bed. Eventually his gaze focused on a spot on the side of Sylvanas’ neck. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Nathanos said, his voice implying the opposite.

Sylvanas rolled her eyes and leaned on the doorframe. “Spit it out, Nathanos. What is it?”

“Your messenger sent me a missive mentioning some sort of attempt on Proudmoore’s life.”

“Of course,” Sylvanas said sweetly. “Inform Anya that we all will be meeting in the conference hall in the east wing in an hour.”

For a few more moments, Nathanos glared at the lump behind Sylvanas that was Jaina Proudmoore with barely concealed contempt before he bowed and began making his way down the hall. “As you wish, my Queen.”

Nokrogroa watched Nathanos’ retreat for a few moments before turning to salute Sylvanas. “I am here to cater to my usual duties, my Queen.”

“You can start by bringing Lady Proudmoore some coffee from the kitchens. Black.”

Nokrogroa gave another salute and an ‘aye’ before retreating down the hallway. Sylvanas quietly closed the door behind him and retraced her steps back to bed, sitting down carefully at the edge of the bed, so as not to wake Jaina in case she had fallen back asleep. Her efforts were futile.

“Mm.” Jaina mumbled, grasping weakly at Sylvanas arm. “Come back to bed.”

Sylvanas absently rubbed a thumb along Jaina’s shoulder blade. As tempting as it was, Sylvanas knew she could not put off responsibility for self indulgence. She dimly wondered if escalating her relationship with Jaina far past what was normal for a political union such as this was a mistake. It had nearly felt like a weakness. This longing for a deep intimacy with another person that she had not felt since before her first death. She had, of course, short and incredibly brief ‘flings’ after her death involving a Dark Ranger (or two), but it lacked this much emotion and that  _ fondness _ she found growing exponentially for the human currently sprawled out in front of her.

“Sylvanas?” Jaina queried, more awake and moving to sit up.

The soft, sleepy voice of Jaina broke Sylvanas out of her thoughts. “Your coffee will be here momentarily. I suggest you get dressed for the day ahead. We have obligations to attend to.”

Jaina frowned at the sudden business-like tone Sylvanas adopted, but moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “Of course. There’s always something.”

Before Sylvanas could move away, Jaina pulled her by the hem of her tunic into a soft kiss. Sylvanas froze for only a moment before returning the kiss and sliding her hand up to tangle her fingers in Jaina’s hair. Being the first to pull away, Jaina grinned at the sensation of the cool hand pressed against her cheek and the caress of Sylvanas’ fingers. Jaina cupped her hand over it, keeping it in place, and turned her head slightly to press her lips against the palm of it. “I understand we have duties to uphold, but I wanted to show you proper gratitude for last night.”

Sylvanas studied her face for a moment. The emotion shining in Jaina’s stormy blue eyes became too much for her and she suddenly needed a few steps between them before she acted on impulse once again. This wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. That woman was long dead at the hands of Arthas. This wasn’t Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde, Banshee Queen to the Forsaken. This was Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner who acted on impulse. Who loved too freely and too deeply.

_ Love? _

Sylvanas turned away from Jaina, suddenly incapable of seeing that look in the mage’s eyes that she was hardly awake enough to conceal. “You are welcome. I’m also very grateful for the kindness you showed me. You did not have to do that for me.”

She heard Jaina chuckle and stand, taking a few measured steps to the wardrobe beside the bed. “I told you I wanted to, didn’t I?”

“Of course.” Sylvanas said simply, collecting her discarded pieces of armor off the floor around the bed and beginning to don them.

The rustling of clothing behind her stopped and she felt Jaina’s gaze bore into the back of her skull. “You’re not going to avoid me and pretend this never happened again, right?”

It would be so incredibly easy to do just that, Sylvanas thought. Keeping Jaina at arm’s length like she had after their encounter a week earlier seemed like the right thing to do. Perfect for her own survival. For her and Jaina’s sanity. And perfect for keeping these newfound  _ emotions _ for Jaina in check. Well, it was perfect in theory, but in practice she found her craving for Jaina’s affection and attention had grown exponentially. She felt far more irritable afterwards too. Harsher, and her poor Rangers suffered the worst of it in training, repeating drills over and over until Sylvanas was satisfied.

When she took too long to reply to Jaina’s question, she heard the Lord Admiral let out an annoyed sigh and began pulling on her clothing again. “I don’t know why I even asked. You’re so unreadable at times.”

Sylvanas bristled at that, ear twitching in indignation. Abandoning her cloak and hood on the floor, she whirled around and practically glided across the hardwood to stand in front of Jaina, who pressed her back into the wardrobe in shock, but her eyes darkened over in something else. Sylvanas eyes roamed Jaina’s figure for a moment, taking note of the unlaced breeches and undershirt, then finally coming to rest at Jaina’s wide-eyed gaze, red eyes focusing on blue. She reached her hand out to stroke her fingers through that soft two-toned hair that was yet to be put into another braid. 

Leaning into Jaina until her lips brushed her ear, Sylvanas whispered, “I’d rather ravage you every moment I get.”

Jaina’s eyes slid closed and she shuddered, words suddenly lost on her. Feeling characteristically bold, Sylvanas pressed herself against the mage, laying open mouth kisses along the blooming bruises on Jaina’s neck. “I seem to have made a mess of you.”

Jaina pulled back to rest her forehead on Sylvanas, panting for breath and shifting her thighs together uncomfortably before replying, “You just made another one.”

A pulse similar to a heartbeat vibrated through Sylvanas’ entire body before she cupped her hands on the swell of Jaina’s ass and lifted her onto the wardrobe. “Did I? Then it is my duty to take care of it.” 

Lowering to her knees in front of Jaina. She slid her hands slowly up the mage’s thighs, nails grazing the smooth skin and grasped the waistband, pulling it down her legs.

_ Thump. _

The sound of heavy footsteps filled Sylvanas ears and she immediately recognized the gait to be Nokrogroa’s. Although, he was normally much lighter on his feet than that. Sylvanas pondered whether it was intentional; if he was warning them of his approach. Sylvanas mentally thanked him for his constant awareness. Jaina looked down at her, confused as to why she had suddenly stopped. Internally cursing Jaina’s poor human hearing, Sylvanas gave her thighs a slight squeeze before nodding her head at the door.

“Your coffee, Lady Proudmoore,” The death knight’s voice sounded through the wood of the door seconds later.

Conflict marred Jaina’s features as she warred with the decision to wait for her beloved bitter drink in favor of Sylvanas, or to pull her pants back up and retrieve it. To Sylvanas’ relief, Jaina rested her hands on top of Sylvanas’ head and replied loudly in a tone befitting a Lord Admiral, “Leave it outside the door, Champion. I’ll retrieve it in a moment.”

“He will stand by that door, you know that, right?” Sylvanas teased, stroking the skin of Jaina’s hip bone. “And these walls are less than soundproof.”

Jaina rolled her eyes and nudged Sylvanas’ hands to keep pulling her breeches down. “Right now, I don’t care. If he makes a crude comment, -  _ which I highly doubt he will _ \- I will personally order him to scrub the latrine. Now make it quick or we’ll be late.”

Sylvanas’ ear flicked in annoyance at being ordered around, but she found she enjoyed it and obliged, pulling down Jaina’s underwear as well. “As you wish,  _ Lady Proudmoore _ .” She drawled before planting hot kisses along the seams of Jaina’s inner thighs.

She grazed her fangs along Jaina’s sensitive skin, smirking at the whimper Jaina let out. Sylvanas looked up to meet her eyes once again and ran her cool tongue along Jaina’s core, brushing her clit for only a brief moment. She watched with a satisfied grin at how Jaina’s throat worked to swallow back the moan she almost let go. 

“I wonder what else that gorgeous throat of yours can swallow.” Sylvanas hinted.

This coaxed a full body tremor from Jaina.

Sylvanas draped a hand over her thigh to shift her closer, and kneaded along the inside of Jaina’s knee with the other, repeating the motion with her tongue.

She felt a great amount of satisfaction when Jaina suddenly tightened her fingers in Sylvanas’ hair and let out a quiet, shaky moan.

“You’re going to sing my name, Jaina,” Sylvanas mumbled against the searing skin of Jaina’s thigh in Thalassian, bringing her hand from her knee to ghost two fingers up to ghost over her entrance. 

Jaina fell deathly silent for a moment, only letting out short, heaving breaths, and Sylvanas wondered if she was too far gone to translate the words, but Jaina voiced her reply in shaky but fluent Thalassian, “Make me, Windrunner.”

Sylvanas looked up at Jaina and flashed a dangerous fang before doubling her efforts and sinking two fingers in the hot heat of Jaina. The mage brought her hand up to bite her knuckle in an attempt to stifle a loud moan, but it was a vain attempt. Half the keep was sure to have heard her by now.

A few expert swipes of her tongue and a curl of her fingers was all it took to bring Jaina over the edge embarrassingly quickly. She gasped out Sylvanas’ name, hands tightening in her hair while she was slowly brought down with a few shallow strokes of Sylvanas’ fingers and calculated cool kisses against Jaina’s inner thigh.

Sylvanas grinned up at Jaina when the trembling finally left Jaina’s body, running her tongue along the glistening on her lips. “Such a good girl. I told you that I would make you sing my name.” She purred, licking Jaina’s fluids off her fingers.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jaina sputtered, looking away from how Sylvanas tongue was currently caressing her fingers. The tips of her ears burned red and she hastily shoved Sylvanas back so she could stand on shaky legs. 

Sylvanas rose up after her to kiss her deeply; Jaina practically moaned in her mouth at her own taste on Sylvanas lips. Before Sylvanas could press her against the wardrobe again, Jaina placed her hands on Sylvanas shoulder, reluctantly pushing her back. “We have…” she shuddered as she watched Sylvanas’ tongue swipe along her fangs. “We have prior obligations. And I need to put my pants back on.”

Sylvanas gave her one final, brief kiss before finally stepping away to retrieve her discarded cloak. “Of course, Lord Admiral.”

When they were both fully clothed and decent, Sylvanas proffered an arm to Jaina who stared at it for a brief moment before sliding her own along it. Outside the door stood Nokrogroa who immediately averted his eyes, but (thankfully) said nothing, instead wordlessly offering Jaina a steaming mug of coffee.

“Thank you, Champion. I really appreciated it.” Jaina said after taking a long sip of her drink.

“There is no need for thanks, Lady Proudmoore.” He replied, a faint smile echoing in his ethereal voice. “I understand you need caffeine before you can become a functioning member of society.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows furrowed. Did he just tell a joke? As a matter of fact, Nokrogroa had spoken more words since being assigned to guard Jaina than she had heard him speak in all the years he served her since his death. “Fascinating,” she muttered to herself before giving Jaina’s arm a light tug. “Come. We must meet Blightcaller before he grows impatient.”

—-

As good of a night (and morning) Jaina was having, her vibrant mood was nearly crushed by the presence of Nathanos Blightcaller. The meeting had started twenty minutes ago and his gaze had hardly left Jaina, eyes filled with hatred. If Sylvanas had noticed, she made no attempt to address it or even reprimand the Ranger-Lord.

Anya Eversong was quite the opposite, her gaze snapping from Jaina to Sylvanas in unabashed glee over and over again before she eagerly accepted a gold piece being slid in her direction by a Dark Ranger Jaina didn’t know the name of.

When Nokrogroa finally finished reciting the events of the last week to the room and settled down into his seat, another Dark Ranger (whose name was also lost on Jaina) stood and gave a Forsaken salute in Sylvanas’ direction. Her face hardened over the scar splitting her eyebrow before she addressed the Warchief, “Dark Lady, I have information for you.”

Sylvanas gestured for her to continue. “What is it, Kalira?”

Kalira. Jaina made a mental note to learn each one of their names.

Kalira shifted hesitantly on her feet for a second before she continued, “During my guard detail, I encountered Wrynn’s personal spy.”

“Shaw?”

“Sanguinar.”

Sylvanas clasped her hands together, leaning in on her elbows and scrutinized Kalira for a moment. “And why did you not inform me of this encounter as soon as possible?”

Kalira swallowed and nervously flicked her eyes to Jaina before looking back at Sylvanas. “You were otherwise… preoccupied last night and this morning.”

A loud creaking sound came from Nathanos’ direction as he gripped his arm rest tightly, drawing half the room’s annoyed flares. Sylvanas didn’t even acknowledge it. “You could have written a missive.”

“I didn’t want to be rude, my Queen.” Kalira said, her one complete ear wilting slightly in fear. “Such matters are too sensitive to discuss on parchment.”

In quiet, careful Thalassian, Sylvanas uttered, “We will discuss this in depth, later, Ranger.”

Kalira swallowed, saluted, and sat down, avoiding Sylvanas’ gaze.

“You can’t punish her for that.” Jaina hissed, laying a hand on Sylvanas’ arm.

“I have every right to discipline my soldiers as I see fit, Proudmoore.” Sylvanas replied, coldly, shrugging Jaina’s hand off. “You seem to forget your life is in danger.”

“I have not forgotten anything, Warchief.” Jaina’s voice was dangerously low and she pulled her leg away where it was pressed against Sylvanas’ calf. She missed the pleasant cool weight, but was too angry at Sylvanas to even bear contact with her. 

Jaina ignored Nathanos’ self-satisfied smirk and turned to face Kalira. “If Valeera knows, I trust the High King knows?”

“He was the one that sent her, Lord Admiral. Though, she claims she can investigate on the Kul Tiran side of matters.”

“I trust Anduin enough to know he’s smart enough to not share this information willingly. And Valeera is secretive enough. This may be a good thing for us after all.” She directed those last few words at Sylvanas, but her wife pointedly spurned her words.

Jaina turned to address Nathanos. “And have you brought a trustworthy healer so you can begin to interrogate our prisoner?”

His smirk quickly fell into a frown at Jaina’s commanding tone. “I have.”

His answer was short and simple, implying he had no intention of expanding on the topic. Jaina didn’t trust that for even a second - didn’t trust  _ him _ at all, as a matter of fact - but she didn’t demand any more information. She didn’t think it was possible to want to be in a room less than she already had.

“Just see that it gets done, Blightcaller.”

Sylvanas had interjected before Jaina had a chance to. Normally, Jaina wouldn’t have minded, but she was rather irritated at the elf’s ever changing attitude towards her. Giving Sylvanas a swift kick in the shin under the table, Jaina pushed her chair back and stood. “If that is all, I’ll take my leave.”

Sylvanas reached up to grab her forearm, gripping tightly and meeting Jaina’s eyes. “We have other mattes we need to talk about later,  _ consort _ .”

Jaina bristled at the sudden use of that title she hated with a passion and yanked her arm out of her grasp, straightening the sleeves of her greatcoat and looking down at Sylvanas over her nose. “Of course,  _ wife. _ ” She goaded, taking secret pleasure from the cross look on Sylvanas face.

Nokrogroa surged out of his seat to follow her, saying nothing as he took his usual post behind her. When she was out of earshot of the meeting room, Jaina turned to address him. “How do you tolerate her speaking to her subordinates like that?”

Nokrogroa tilted his head. “I am her soldier. And she is nowhere near as degrading as Blightcaller.”

“Yes, but Blightcaller is also a hypocrite and a bigot.” Jaina sighed, crossing her arms in thought, “It’s like one moment she’s kind and she has this wry humor. She wordlessly shows you she may actually care. Then a second later, it’s all gone. Replaced with coldness and hostility. I’ve seen her drills with her Rangers. They all seem to genuinely enjoy themselves and her presence and to see her frighten Kalira like that is…” Jaina trailed off and furrowed her brow. “And don’t get me started on how distant she’s been with me until recently.”

Jaina didn’t know why she was telling him any of this at all. It wasn’t as if he was a close friend of hers. Or that she was even obligated to after he had told her of his past. But he seemed genuine enough and she needed an outlet for all the anger she had built up.

“Since I have come under her service, the Dark Lady has always had a complex relationship with trust.” Nokrogroa shifted his grip on his polearm, unsure of whether or not to continue, “And some past grievances regarding her personal… connection to Ranger Daywhisper.”

Daywhisper. Jaina assumed that it must have been Kalira’s surname. She thought back to her earlier self-imposed project, finding relief in occupying her mind with busywork. Anya Eversong. Kalira Daywhisper. Nokrogroa-

“Nokrogroa? Do you have a surname?” Logic told her he probably did considering his mother was high-elven, but unions between an orc and an elf were nearly unheard of (at least in Alliance circles) so she didn’t know if there were extenuating circumstances regarding his orcish heritage.

Nokrogroa nodded. “Nokrogroa Sunvale.”

Anya Eversong. Kalira Daywhisper. Nokrogroa Sunvale. It was a start.

Calm now, Jaina finally addressed what he said. “What happened between Kalira and the Warchief?”

“That question is not in my jurisdiction to answer.”

“Why does everyone always tell me that?”

Nokrogroa didn’t answer, choosing instead to focus his eyes on a spot behind her. “Your mother is here, Lord Admiral.”

Jaina whirled around on her heel to watch Katherine's graceful approach. “Hello, Jaina. You did not attend breakfast this…” Her eyes widened when she got closer to Jaina, gaze snapping to a spot on her neck. “...morning.”

Jaina internally winced and shifted her braid to cover her necks, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

“Did the Warchief do that?” She whispered, grabbing Jaina’s upper arm and squinting her eyes suspiciously at the bruise. “Has she been…” Jaina didn’t know it was possible for her voice to drop any lower, “Taking advantage of you?”

“What?” Jaina asked, her tone incredulous at the insinuation. “Mother, this isn’t-“

Katherine looked up at Nokrogroa suspiciously. “You do not have to lie for her sake.”

“I’m not lying.” Jaina exclaimed, “It was completely consensual.”

“Are you s-“

“ _ Yes _ , I’m sure. I’m nearly forty for Tides sake. I’d like to believe I’ve had enough life experience to make my own decisions regarding my relationship with my wife.”

Katherine stared at Jaina for a moment, her face shifting as she mulled over thoughts Jaina knew couldn’t be good, before she relented and released Jaina’s arm. “Does she make you happy?”

If anyone had asked Jaina that very question only an hour beforehand, Jaina would have said yes. She didn’t know if it was the post-sex brain chemicals speaking or whether she was genuinely content in the new developments of her relationship with Sylvanas Windrunner. Now, however, she wasn't sure how she felt about everything, and she was very irritated at Sylvanas currently. Last night and the following morning had been a pleasant distraction from Azshara’s looming threat and wariness of another attack on her; Jaina had grown to love Sylvanas’ quick, dry wit and her silent affections. Sometimes, however, the Warchief could become rather detached from affection and even emotions in general. It was all rather vexing for Jaina, who preferred constant reassurance over whatever hot and cold game Sylvanas was playing this time.

“I don’t know how to answer that.” She said, finally.

“I understand.”

Jaina gritted her teeth and looked down at the ground. “You don’t-“

Katherine reaches out suddenly to tilt Jaina’s head up by her chin, meeting her gaze. “Trust me, I do. It will be a long, hard road, and as much as I dislike the Warchief, she is family to me now.” She pauses for a moment before pulling away. “I pray you two will one day solace in each other as Daelin and I once did.”

That’s right. Katherine and Daelin were an arranged marriage. They had been so loving and affectionate with each other when she was growing that Jaina had nearly forgotten that fact. She wondered if the beginnings of their relationship was as stressful as hers was. She decided she would ask her mother about it later.

“Thank you, mother. For showing me concern.”

“Of course, my dear, you are my daughter.” She gave Jaina a small smile before her face hardened over. She nodded once in Nokrogroa’s direction. “Champion.”

Nokrogroa, who was once again showing his talent in minding his own business, turned to face Katherine, giving her a respectful bow. “Lady Proudmoore.”

“I trust you are keeping my daughter well protected?”

“Aye, Lady Proudmoore, I would lay down my life for hers. It is my duty.”

“Enough with the ‘Lady Proudmoore’ nonsense. Call me Katherine.” She gave another smile, albeit this one held less warmth than the one that she gave Jaina. “I will leave you to it.”

And with that, Katherine proceeded down the hall, probably on her way to meet with some stuffy Kul Tiran dignitaries.

Jaina let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding and turned to Nokrogroa. “I’m sorry you had to be there for that conversation. It must have been incredibly awkward for you.”

“It was not, my Queen.” Nokrogroa responded.

“I’ll never get used to being called a queen,” Jaina muttered to herself, “Would you mind accompanying me to the library?”

“It is my duty.”

Jaina let out a small laugh, finally feeling a little better. “I know, but it’s always polite to ask first.”

—-

The Tortollans were a kind people. One would think their hard shells were testament to their personality, but it was not. They were caring and accepting and very open-minded to new adventures; the hardships they faced doing nothing to ruin their abundantly cheerful moods.

Stationed near a small settlement of them in Stormsong Valley, Lekar came to befriend quite a few, trading stories over drinks under the starlight when his various duties had finished. They were fascinated with the Worgen curse Lekar was afflicted with, asking many (well-meaning) questions about what abilities and advantages he gained in his Worgen form. He didn’t mind the probing questions, of course, the look of wonder and admiration in the Tortollan children’s eyes when he shifted for them swelled him with pride. The warrior had slowly grown to love that part of him he had once hated with a passion, proud of the trials and tribulations that had gotten him where he was today.

It was puzzling, yet relieving, when they did not prod at his past. He had not always looked like the man he was today, stuck playing a role in society he always resented. Pretending to the woman he had never wanted to be. They simply nodded in respect and understanding when he told them (after a few drinks, of course). It didn’t seem to be a concept that was new or foreign to their culture as it was to many of the younger races of Azeroth, though they were rather fascinated at the improvements in magical treatments that had developed at the hands of dedicated mages over the short number of years. 

All in all, Lekar enjoyed his time he spent in their company. And he thoroughly enjoyed the peace and quiet he had from steady work and relaxation afterwards. It was a far cry from the action filled lifestyle of fighting demons and whatever insanity plagued Azeroth at that moment.

Or, he did, until Collector Kojo made a discovery at an abandoned altar; the only thing sitting on it was a wicked looking dagger emanating a dark power.

The moment he picked it up, Lekar wondered if he had made a mistake touching it at all. And the newfound whispers in his mind were more than unsettling.

_ So weak... need... blood... souls... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to write a spin-off buddy comedy with Lekar and Nokrogroa called “Maybe Don’t Mess With the Magic Evil Talking Knife.” Don’t ask why would be there Nokrogroa is there, he just would be.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas is a good wife. Jaina blushes. Nokrogroa meets a big fan. Lekar gets into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I hope you enjoy this chapter I have lined up for you. It’s full of other perspectives and a smidgen of plot.

Jaina didn’t have to look up from her book to know Sylvanas was standing behind her. If it wasn’t the sound of Nokrogroa shifting into a salute at the doorway, it was the silent, yet subtle presence behind her. She was still very irritated at her wife, using her favorite pastime (and a few glasses of wine) to quell the anger that had built inside her.

“What do you want, Sylvanas,” Jaina droned, not looking up from the page she was currently reading.

She felt the cool weight of Sylvanas’ palm press against her shoulder gently. “I came to apologize for my actions.”

Jaina gave a derisive snort, rolling her shoulder slightly so Sylvanas’ hand would fall away. “You don’t apologize.”

“I’m normally not sorry about my actions,” Sylvanas said, “But I am sorry about this one. I lashed out and treated Kalira rather unfairly.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Sylvanas Windrunner…” Jaina mumbled, turning into her seat to face Sylvanas. She studied the elf’s face for a minute, noting the way her ears were tilting downwards, indicating some sort of remorse. Her face remained impassive, however. “It’s jarring to hear you speak like this.”

“Consider it me - what is the human saying - flipping a new petal?” Sylvanas’ head tilted slightly at the question. A gesture Jaina internally found incredibly endearing. Something reminiscent of the Ranger-General she briefly knew. Aloof, but charming.

“The phrase is ‘turning over a new leaf’.” Jaina answered, an easy smile falling over her face once again. It didn’t last long however as she remembered something.

“Did you discipline Kalira?”

“I did.” Sylvanas said simply, though her ears wilted a tad more.

“Sylvanas-“

“I did not harm her. I merely gave her a double-shift guarding our guest.”

Jaina let out a sigh slumping against the back of her chair. “I suppose that’s appropriate.”

Sylvanas’ ears returned to their normal, regal position and she leaned against the desk. “Have you been here the entire day?”

“Unfortunately. I got caught up in finding out what I can about Azshara. There aren’t many written accounts of her, just passing mentions.”

“I doubt you would have much luck in a human library. It would probably be more beneficial to search in a Kaldorei library, or even the great library in Silvermoon.” Sylvanas smiled then, and it was the warmest look she had ever seen on the Banshee’s face. Disregarding the time Sylvanas wasn’t fully conscious after her healing session. Jaina’s eyes were practically glued to Sylvanas’ face. Watching her lips part with a grin and a flash of teeth, her eyes crinkling in amusement. Jaina hardly noticed Sylvanas reach her hand up to tuck a loose thread of silver hair behind her ear until she felt her knuckles brush the back of her lobe. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought of that.”

Clearing her throat and turning back to her book, Jaina’s cheeks reddened. She was blushing as if she was a smitten teenager again, for Tides sake! “That’s a good point. I didn’t think of that.” Jaina stammered, resisting a sudden urge to pull Sylvanas into a kiss. Those thoughts were short-lived when a low rumble came from Jaina’s stomach.

“Difficult to think on an empty stomach. Did you have lunch?”

“My, Warchief, it almost sounds like you care.” Jaina teased.

“What kind of wife would I be if I let you die of starvation? Greymane would have a field day over it.” Sylvanas replied, reaching up to adjust Jaina’s collar. She tried to ignore the feeling of the Banshee’s fingers lightly brushing along her neck. “Have you eaten or not?”

“She hasn’t, Dark Lady.” Nokrogroa replied for her from the doorway, speaking for the first time since they arrived in the library. The glare Jaina shot him didn’t phase him one bit as he continued. “I tried to convince her an hour ago, but she wasn’t listening.”

“I think he needs a double-shift too,” Jaina said innocently, looking up at Sylvanas again, “Just to keep him on his toes.” Nokrogroa remained still at her words, as if he knew the threat was empty.

Sylvanas let out a short, but genuine laugh. “I won’t punish him for following orders. It is his duty to look out for your wellbeing, no?” She pushed herself off the desk and extended a hand down to Jaina, a gesture meant to help her out of her seat.

Jaina scoffed at the gesture, but accepted the help nonetheless. “I think I have quite a few years before I’m too old and decrepit to need help standing.” The cool press of Sylvanas’ palm against hers filled her with a calm she hadn’t been anticipating.

Sylvanas gave a brief squeeze of her hand, guiding her to the doorway, where Nokrogroa stepped aside to let them through. “What an understatement ‘quite a few years’ is… You are aware of the sheer amount of arcane power coursing through you, right?”

Jaina absently let her thumb stroke along Sylvanas' knuckles. “Of course I am.” She said in mock indignance. “What kind of mage do you take me for?”

“A very powerful one. One who became Archmage and leader of the Kirin Tor in a matter of years after leaving apprenticeship. One who single handedly rose a massive ship from the ocean. One who brought that same ship over the sea - over _land_ \- and turned the tides of battle. One who conjured arcane cannons-“

“Now you’re flattering me,” Jaina said with a teasing grin, “You should stop while you’re ahead, it’s not good for my vanity; I might even end up as swell-headed as you.”

Sylvanas let out a chuckle at the jab. “Maybe I do need more humility.”

When they finally reached the kitchens (and requested a few sandwiches), Jaina sobered a little, remembering a question she was burning to ask Sylvanas for a good portion of the day. She swallowed the last bit of her sandwich, second sandwich before looking over at Sylvanas. She had been silent for a few minutes now, but her posture was relaxed, arm swung over the backrest and chin in her hand watching Jaina.

“Sylvanas,” she started, choosing her words carefully, “May I ask you a personal question?”

Sylvanas stiffened at the request, but she obliged, “Of course. We agreed on emotional honesty.”

“Yes,” Jaina confirmed, brows furrowing, “But I don’t want to ask you something you’re uncomfortable with.”

Sylvanas, interest peaked, leaned in closer to Jaina. “I’ve endured things that are far worse than ‘uncomfortable’, Jaina. Ask away.”

“Was there something between you and Kalira?”

Sylvanas flicked her eyes away from her, instead choosing to focus on a droplet of condensation rolling down the side of Jaina’s glass. She was quiet for a long moment and Jaina cursed her ever present curiosity, preparing to tell her she didn’t have to answer if she didn’t want to.

“Yes,” Sylvanas replied finally, “How did you guess?”

Jaina waved the question away, not wanting to get Nokrogroa in any kind of trouble. “Call it intuition. What happened between you?”

Sylvanas’ eyebrow rose at the deflect, but she thankfully didn’t press for an answer.

“We had a relationship before our deaths, but at the end of the day, she was my subordinate and I was her commanding officer.” Jaina rested a hand on Sylvanas’ thigh, silently urging her to continue, “While high elves are lax when it comes to such relationships, unlike humans, we disagreed constantly over how I should lead my rangers. And having a subordinate undermine your authority as Ranger-General was less than ideal.”

Stormy blue eyes met glowing red for a long moment. Each searching the other for some sort of reassurance, some form of comfort and calm on each other’s faces. This was the first time Jaina had heard of Sylvanas in somewhat serious relationships instead of stories Vereesa has told her of flings the elf had in her life. She couldn’t say she had understood; the only serious relationship she ever had was with Arthas (and their engagement had been previously arranged by their respective nations.) Go’el was another strange case. She enjoyed his company immensely and had chosen to enter into a relationship with him, but political complications had stood in the way, preventing them from being anything more than casual. And there was Vereesa. She considered the youngest Windrunner one of her best friends, but there was no romantic love there. Just a distraction from the pain they felt after the destruction of Theramore. Jaina wanted to tell the woman in front of her that she got it. She understood. Anything to give Sylvanas that small bit of reassurance that she knew the Banshee was secretly craving, but it would be a lie.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Jaina said instead.

Sylvanas’ face was unreadable for a moment, before she responded, “It’s an odd feeling, being honest. It’s freeing and also…”

“Anxiety inducing?” Jaina answered with a small smile.

“I guess you could say it made me feel a little anxious.” Sylvanas looked down to where Jaina’s hand was currently resting on her thigh. “Half of Azeroth is going to know what occurred between us last night and this morning.”

The fanged grin and eyebrow raise was all it took for Jaina to finally look away, blushing in embarrassment. She pulled her hand from Sylvanas’ thigh and ran her finger along the edge of her water glass. “I’m never going to hear the end of it from my brothers.”

“Nor from the boy king and his friends, considering his personal spy seems to be lurking around Kul Tiras at this very moment.” Sylvanas teased, leaning in to whisper in Jaina’s ear, “I certainly love the fact that everyone in the keep knows whose company you enjoy at night.”

Jaina didn’t think it was possible for her to get redder. “E-enough.” She stammered, standing up with a sudden restlessness, “You are terrible sometimes.”

“So you’ve said.”

Jaina looked back down at Sylvanas, a heady look falling over her eyes. She hadn’t forgotten just how skilled Sylvanas was with her hands that quickly. And it had been a long time since she had felt that satisfied. Jaina wasn’t sure what compelled her to ask her next question. “Would you be willing to join me again tonight?”

The grin Sylvanas gave her was all the answer she needed.

—-

Nokrogroa never liked transitions. One would think change didn’t bother him, considering his life had been full of changes. The loss of his mother. The butchering of his father. The transition from a life, free in the outskirts of Quel’Thalas to imprisonment in an internment camp. He hardly even pulled himself together enough to handle the birth of his daughter. And when that routine had finally begun to set in, his life was upended again. Literally. He had been forced into undeath and servitude by the Lich King and lost nearly everything. Having to seek solace in a new ‘life’ serving the only people who understood his plight. His life was all just a constant adjustment.

He hated the change from his normal, frontline duties battling whatever threat plagued Azeroth to guarding one of the most powerful mages he knew. He had grown to love the duty, however. Found a comfortable routine in watching for anything that could harm the Lord Admiral. He even enjoyed conversing with her when she felt sociable. He appreciated patrolling the halls of Proudmoore Keep and the nearby streets of Boralus during the night when return to the barracks. The only sounds being the waves hitting the shoreline and the seagulls soaring overhead. Nokrogroa wasn’t the seafaring type, but he admired the craftsmanship of the boats and the salty air. He had managed to grow comfortable in Boralus. As comfortable as he could be in a city he was at war with mere months ago.

Naturally, nothing lasts forever. They were due for Lordaeron by nightfall (after a short detour in Orgrimmar for appearances). While he was very used to residing in Lordaeron at this point, having done so for the majority of the past decade, he would have to adjust to it again in a very short period of time. He drew a small amount of consolation at the fact that he knew the halls of Lordaeron and the Undercity below like the back of his hand. But still, it was a change and he resented that fact.

A sense of dread filled him when the Lord Admiral began to weave a portal to Orgrimmar (part of him was grateful they did not decide to ferry by boat this time). Beside her, the Dark Lady stood, her frown deepening at the sight of the red desert through the shimmering window of arcane. Nokrogroa knew she despised Durotar’s oppressive sun and blinding light as much he did. Once upon a time, he would’ve been happy to see the place he once had called home, to feel the heat of the sun and the feeling of the red dirt beneath his boots, but his love for it was gone now. Since his death, he has always thrived better in colder climates.

As he shifted his grip on his polearm, he noticed Anya shift a sympathetic look his way. Nokrogroa wasn’t much for discussing his feelings about certain things, but he supposed he could call Anya a friend in that regard. He had exchanged more words with the ranger in his time in the Forsaken than anyone else. She was the only person he could say with full confidence that he had ever _complained_ to about anything. Whether it be whatever degrading comment Blightcaller had made or Nokrogroa's endless guilt, Anya listened. And she knew exactly how he felt about Durotar.

When they stepped through the portal into Orgrimmar, he refrained from shielding his eyes from the bright, burning sun. Shifting his fingers along his polearm in annoyance, he immediately began scanning for any potential threats in the area, though his gaze narrowed on where Blightcaller had pointedly inserted himself between Jaina and Sylvanas.

“Always paranoid, aren’t you, Nokro?”

Slight irritation rising in him at the nickname, Nokrogroa shifted his eyes to the elf beside him. “It is my job to focus on threats to Lady Proudmoore’s health.”

“The only threat I see is potentially passing out from heatstroke, and I’m sure Lady Proudmoore could conjure a million glasses of water before that would ever happen.” Anya said cheekily, “Though, the way you’re focusing on the Ranger-Lord tells me you weren’t thinking of that.”

Nokrogroa glanced around him for a second, searching for anyone who could possibly hear his next words before he leaned down towards Anya’s ear. “I don’t trust him.” He confirmed in a low voice.

“You also found it convenient that he was the only one who could question our little traitor friend?” Anya asked, blinking innocently.

“And very convenient that the traitor died during the interrogation.” Nokrogroa muttered, not taking his eyes off of Blightcaller for a second. “I think his infatuation with our Queen is making him bold. What his plans are, I’m uncertain.”

Anya crossed her arms. “I’m more surprised the Dark Lady doesn’t see it. Or maybe she’s too occupied with fucking Lady Proudmoore to realize there’s something up with Blightcaller.”

Nokrogroa’s eyes snapped to Anya at the crude language. “I would prefer not to think about that, Eversong. Especially after what I heard almost every morning this past week.”

“You’re acting as if the whole damn city didn’t hear it.” Anya exasperated.

“Unfortunately, I can't get away from it. Every morning, I had to hear Lady Proudmoore and the Warchief, and every night I had to hear you and the Fordragon spawn-“

“ _Belore,_ okay,” Anya interjected, her ears perking up in slight embarrassment, “I get it. I see your point.”

“I don’t think you do-“

“Champion,” Sylvanas called to Nokrogroa near the entrance to Grommash Hold. “Give Proudmoore a tour of the city. Eversong, with me and Blightcaller.”

“Duty calls,” Anya sighed, stepping forward to stand behind Sylvanas. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Nokrogroa only nodded, now focused on Jaina approaching him. The first thing he noticed was the brimming, subtle layer of arcane surrounding her, making the air around her comfortably cooler. “I haven’t been inside Orgrimmar since Hellscream took the mantle of Warchief.” She said, a grim look falling over her features.

“The only thing that hasn’t changed here is the oppressive heat.” Nokrogroa replied, voice laced with mirth.

Jaina smiled, humor sparkling in her eyes, “That’s the charm of Durotar, I suppose. Now, where’s our first destination?”

Nokrogroa took on the role of tour guide rather well, showing Jaina the many popular inns and taverns that littered the Valley of Strength to the small, varied shops of The Drag. Jaina seemed especially interested in a small jewelry stall owned by a young, bespectacled troll woman.

Picking up a wood carved bracelet depicting a scorpion, Jaina addressed the woman manning the stall, “Did you make all of these yourself?”

“Hey, now, don’t be fondlin’ de merchan-“ The Troll’s jaw dropped when she recognized who exactly was at her stall, “Lady Proudmoore, I didn’ mean no disrespect.”

Jaina simply waved it off with a grin. “Don’t apologize at all. I’d rather be treated like a normal customer.”

The troll’s jaw worked silently for a moment before she gingerly traced the carving with a finger. “Most is made by me, but dat piece be made by my mate.”

“I think it’s very beautiful. This is amazing handiwork.” Jaina turned to face Nokrogroa. “What do you think?”

Nokrogroa wasn’t one for fashion or jewelry, but he recognized the material. “It is…” He paused, searching for the right words to say, “A lovely piece of jewelry, my Lady. Is that wood from the Jade Forest in Pandaria? Very strong, and pliant.”

“Ya guard got a good eye. My mate is always travelin’ half the year and brings me materials.”

“How much for it?” Jaina asked, idly admiring the texture of the wood.

“Usually twelve silver, but I can knock down the price, you bein’ wedded to the Warchief and all.”

“Nonsense,” Jaina said, already digging in her pouch for a gold piece and laying it on the counter, 

The woman balked at the sight of the gold coin sitting in front of her. “My Lady, I can’t accept this.”

But Jaina wasn’t hearing it. She began tucking the bracelet in her pouch and walking away with a smile. “Keep the change.”

As they walked away, the troll woman sputtered, staring at the coin with shock. A younger Nokrogroa would have chuckled at the sight.

“I think my appearance has driven half the city speechless.” Jaina jested, nodding pointedly at all the open-mouthed stares she was receiving.

Nokrogroa noticed them the moment they had set foot in Orgrimmar, of course. It was his job, after all. “It’s a rare sight to see a living human in the city. And an even rarer sight for one to visit in peace.”

“Perks of a peace treaty.”

Jaina had enjoyed the Valley of Spirits the most, befriending tiny water elementals that had resided in the shallow pools and chatting with a few shaman passing through. She had seemed more at ease here, the residual elemental magic in the air providing some sort of comfort for her. Perhaps influenced by a lingering connection she had with the elements that lived in the seas. Once upon a time, Nokrogroa would have called this place home. Being a formerly adept shaman, Nokrogroa had spent many hours communing with the elemental power that lingered there. He could still feel that power filling in the area; so abundant, he could nearly taste it. But he couldn’t touch it, he lost that right - that ability - in death. Replaced only by the cruel mockery of death magic.

“My legs are sore.” Jaina groaned, lumbering to a nearby bench to plop down and rest. “This city is bigger than I remember.”

Before Nokrogroa could take a seat beside her, he felt a weak tug at his cloak. Preparing for a threat, he gripped his polearm tighter and whirled around to find - an orc child who couldn’t have been older than nine by the size of his tusks. No, not an orc. Not fully, at least. His ears were just as long as his and his features were far too angular, indicating some sort of elvish blood in him. He felt as if he was looking into a mirror to see his younger self.

The child gulped at the swift movement of Nokrogroa, dropping his hand to his side immediately. “S-sir, are you Commander Nokrogroa?” He stammered nervously in Orcish.

It had been a while since Nokrogroa had spoken in Orcish, but it was pleasing to speak in a language so at home for him (besides Thalassian). “That is me.”

Immediately, all fear dissipated from the child’s face and he looked at Nokrogroa with awe. It was all rather jarring considering no one had looked at him that way in twelve years. Most looked at him now with disgust, appalled by the soldier of death he had become. 

“Awesome.” The child muttered to himself.

Nokrogroa crouched down at eye level with the child, “What’s your name, kid?”

“Hallor, sir.”

Nokrogroa smiled under his helmet and waved away the title. “Just call me Nokrogroa, Hallor.”

As Hallor’s mouth worked, stumbling through his next words, Nokrogroa idly wondered if he had broken him. “I’m, like, your biggest fan. Mama told me so many stories about fighting Deathwing with you.”

Ah, another old battle partner. “And what is your mother’s name?”

“Sarza.” 

Sarza. Nokrogroa remembered her well. A proud, orc warrior with a sharp sword and an even sharper wit. “Aye, I know her. I remember she ripped a scale off of Deathwing with her bare hands.”

“Cool.” Hallor marveled, wonderstruck. “All the other champions are awesome and all, but she told me you’re like me.” He gestured to his face vaguely, but that was all Nokrogroa needed to understand what he meant.

Removing his helmet was normally an act that filled Nokrogroa with a deep anxiety, but to know that more like him were becoming accepted around the world emboldened him. Grinning around his tusks at the child’s awed gaze, he lowered his hood and lifted off his helmet.

“Awesome…” The kid muttered, Nokrogroa assumed ‘cool’ and ‘awesome’ were the extent of his vocabulary at the time. “I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

Nokrogroa’s smile fell away to a frown. “I hope you mean as a Champion and not as a d-“

“Oh, goodness. I am so sorry, sir.” A voice apologized in a rush of far-too-formal Orcish, rushing to drag Hallor away. “I hope my son didn’t bother you.”

Nokrogroa looked up at a blood elf man (who was nearly the spitting image of Hallor) with a wry smile and switched to Thalassian immediately. “No, no. Of course not. He reminds me of my own daughter. And of myself.”

“I’m sorry he bothered you, still. You’re probably here on official business.” The blood elf said in his native language, looking back with recognition in his eyes at where Jaina was sitting. 

“Papa,” Hallor tugged at the man’s pant leg and spoke in Thalassian as well, “That’s the Champion that Mama told me about.”

“Yes, I know who he is, little one.” The man replied in a hushed tone.

“Already fluent in Thalassian and Orcish.” Nokrogroa said, mirroring the language. “Bright kid.”

Hallor smiles at the praise and the blood elf man nodded. “Thank you, Commander. He’s working on Common too currently.”

Nokrogroa gave a gentle smile as he stood, brushing specks of red sand off his cloak. “I have all the confidence he will pick it up naturally. Looks like a career as a linguist might be in your future, Hallor. It was lovely to meet you.” 

“It was cool to meet you too, Commander Nokrogroa.” Hallor exclaimed, eagerly, “All my friends are going to be so jealous.”

Nokrogroa’s smile widened and he looked up at the blood elf man. “And lovely to meet you too… uh.” His hand faltered slightly while rising up to extend it, realizing her never asked a name.

“Vandanis.” He answered for Nokrogroa, gripping his hand in a handshake.

“Vandanis.” Nokrogroa repeated, “I’m Nokrogroa, as I’m sure you’re aware. Give Sarza my regards.”

When the Vandanis and his son walked away (Hallor chattering his father’s ear off excitedly about getting to meet a Champion) Nokrogroa put his helmet and hood back on and turned to where Jaina was sitting on the bench.

“Who would have known you would be great with children?” Jaina said, raising a teasing eyebrow in his direction.

“He reminded me of Aurolis,” Nokrogroa replied simply, adjusting his grip on his polearm once again. “As a child, she was full of wonder like him.”

“Aurolis,” Jaina stood, stretching her arms, “Is that your daughter’s name?”

“Aye, I named her after my mother.”

“Your mother was a ranger in Quel’Thalas, right?”

Nokrogroa wasn’t used to personal questions like this one; Anya has always waited for him to be the one to bring anything personal up when he talked to her. And as much as he enjoyed conversation with Jaina, he was still wary of sharing his personal life with others. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust her with the information, things like this were just difficult to discuss, even years later. And he did not want to burden her with his familial issues.

“Aye,” he answered eventually.

Whether it was some hidden meaning in his tone or some form of intuition, Nokrogroa wasn’t sure what made Jaina back off. She only flashed him an apologetic look before nodding in the direction of the Valley of Strength. “It’s been long enough, hasn't it? We should get back before my wife gets worried.”

Had it been anyone else, Nokrogroa would have said the Dark Lady didn’t worry about anyone, but knowing how close she had grown with Jaina in the past few months, he was confident she would send out a search party if Jaina didn’t return within a certain time.

Nokrogroa nodded. “Of course, my Queen. I shall lead the way.”

—-

Dark tidings, Brother Pike had said.

Lekar had known deep in his gut that trusting whatever entity possessed that dagger wasn’t the most brilliant idea he had, but she had promised the downfall of the naga. Of Azshara. Of whatever evil she was planning to unleash upon the people of Azeroth. He felt stupid for believing Xal’atath. He should’ve known she was lying. That she was merely using him to serve Azeroth’s enemy.

_Receive my gift and see all truths before you._

When N’Zoth had marked Lekar with his eye, the warrior had felt the Old God gnawing slowly at his sanity. He was ever thankful he managed to make it to Brother Pike before it was too late and he lost his will. What he saw, however, was incredibly concerning. The ‘gift’, brief as he had it, had given him sight. He had seen that same eye possessing many inhabitants as he stumbled his way to Brother Pike. They all gave him looks of knowing and cruel smirks in his direction. Assuming he was another who was brought under the Old God’s influence.

If there were this many in the general populace who served N’Zoth’s will, then it was more dire than any of them realized.

Rushing to his desk, Lekar shakily dipped a quill in his inkwell and drafted a letter. His hasty scrawl was hardly legible, but he barely noticed. He had to warn them.

“ _High King Wrynn, I fear the threat is far greater than we expected…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Lekar, we’re really in it now, aren’t we?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas and Jaina finally make it to Lordaeron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, hasn’t it?

Blightcaller had done an excellent job in neutralizing the Blight.

Sylvanas was pleased to see that large parts of Lordaeron had been cleared of Blight and mostly restored to habitable. In fact, the towers in every direction of the castle had looked nearly as good as they had before the Third War. Even the cobblestone tile in the courtyard had been thoroughly swept. The normally overgrown flowers and bushes trimmed neatly as if they had a regular caretaker. If Sylvanas didn’t know any better, she would say the Forsaken had prepared Lordaeron for the first living resident it had seen in nearly two decades. 

The gaping hole in the front wall of the castle had yet to be repaired however. The rubble merely pushed aside in neat piles, waiting to be reassembled to fix the shattered wall.

“Sorry about the arcane cannons and the giant, floating battleship.” Jaina said in mock sheepishness, tracing arcane runes in the air with her free hand. The small, cracked shards of brick began to slowly reform into larger pieces, so it would be easier to repair the wall.

Sylvanas gaped for a moment before composing herself. “No need for apologies, Proudmoore. I was floored at the sheer amount of power you possessed.” She squeezed Jaina’s arm slightly while leading her through the courtyard to the throne room. “Do you even know the limits of your power?”

“I don’t really know.” Jaina replied, mostly to herself. “The closest I’ve ever gotten to it since…” She paused, and Sylvanas knew the name on her tongue.

“Theramore.” She provided, rubbing a comforting thumb along Jaina’s upper arm.

Jaina gave her a small, but grateful smile laced with a twinge of sadness. “Yes. Theramore. The closest I had gotten to my limits since before Theramore had been Dazar’alor.”

Jaina did not need to say more. Despite not being present, Sylvanas knew exactly what occurred in that battle. There were dozens of eye witness accounts that stated that Jaina had frozen enough ocean to contain a city, trapping all the Zandalari pursuit vessels with ease. Nathanos had been resentful of that, believing Jaina’s life to be forfeit at the hands of Horde champions and himself, only for her to escape easily.

“I was exhausted afterwards,” Jaina continued, reaching her free hand to brush along a neatly trimmed bush. “But not magically. Emotionally and physically, of course. I can hardly remember the last time I had even fully depleted my mana reserves. They feel nearly bottomless now.”

The gate to the throne room had been neatly repaired, placed back on its hinges. The ceiling and supports were mostly repaired, though there were still a few chunks missing. The only thing vastly out of place was the trail of blood that had dripped from Anduin’s sword leading to the center of the chamber. And an even older stain beside the throne where King Terenas was slaughtered by the same man who robbed her of a clean death.

_This kingdom shall fall._

Sylvanas was too lost in thought to notice that Jaina had stopped walking until she felt resistance preventing her from walking forward. She looked back to find Jaina’s eyes had closed, brows furrowed in thought until her face fell to one of despair. 

“Do you hear that?” Jaina asked, quietly.

_What is this? What are you doing, my son?_

“Hear what?” Sylvanas asked carefully, but she knew the answer.

“I’m hearing…” Jaina’s grip around her arm tightened. “Echoes of the past. Terenas’ last words before… _he_ murdered him. And I can hear his voice too. And the malice in his tone.”

_Succeeding you, Father..._

Sylvanas knew who _he_ was immediately. This was the very throne room that Arthas Menethil had killed his father in front of the people of Lordaeron. Before he went on his path of slaughter throughout the kingdom.

“I did hear it, but I have long since grown to ignore it.” Sylvanas said finally, “Perhaps the sheer violence of the act will never be forgotten by whatever ghosts still lurk in Lordaeron.”

Jaina nodded, her face suddenly very pale, stricken with something not unlike grief.

She had lied, of course. She still heard the echoes of the past every time she had entered the throne room. Arthas’ voice taunting her, despite not even being directed at her.

_You no longer need to sacrifice for your people._

“Come, Jaina.” She spoke, tugging Jaina’s arm, “You haven’t been in Lordaeron peacefully since the Third War.”

Sylvanas led her through a doorway that led to the East tower (which also happened to be the most presentable tower) guiding her up the spiral staircase to the top. A quick glance up at the high ceiling verified that all lingering spider webs had been knocked down. Sylvanas secretly thanked the cleaning staff for their thoroughness. They came to the top of the staircase to find three doors, the one in the middle being noticeably larger than the other two beside it. 

“I gave us both space when it came to work.” Sylvanas stated, indicating the two doors beside the bedroom door. “You have to admit we did not get much done for a good part of our stay in Boralus. Separating our work spaces from each other and the bedroom would be far more beneficial to us both, wouldn't you say?”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault you can’t spend more than five minutes alone with me without keeping your hands _and mouth_ to yourself.”

Sylvanas untangled her arm from Jaina and stepped in front of her, “It’s very entertaining that you pretend I’m the only one of us who can’t.” She whispered, her lips nearly grazing a rounded ear. She did not make any contact with Jaina whatsoever, but with how the mage trembled, she might as well have.

“That’s not…” Jaina swallowed when she heard how husky her voice had gotten. “That’s not fair, Windrunner.”

Sylvanas brought her head back to give her a knowing grin. With a knuckle, she gestured Jaina’s chin to tilt up, the action being so familiar to Jaina, that she didn’t even have to press her finger into the underside of her chin. “I’m not even touching you.” Sylvanas murmured, bringing her mouth close to Jaina’s, leaving only a small hint of space between them.

Jaina’s throat worked a little as she searched for the next words to say. It was a lovely sight, Sylvanas thought, admiring the subtle muscles of her neck. Jaina’s blue eyes darted from Sylvanas’ glowing red ones, down to her lips over and over again, seemingly struggling to make a decision on what to do next.

Sylvanas opened her mouth to say… _something._ Whether it was to taunt her, tease her, or something far more tender, she didn’t know. The words were lost on her tongue when Jaina had finally made a decision, wrapping her arms around Sylvanas’ neck and pulling her into a deep kiss. There was no room for tenderness in this kiss, just a desperate clashing of tongue and teeth as Sylvanas slowly backed Jaina into the nearest wall-

“Very sorry to interrupt,” A voice spoke up behind them, from the tone of his voice, he was rather annoyed. “But this is a _public_ hallway.”

Sylvanas stepped away gracefully, taking on an annoyed expression as she turned to face the man behind her. He was far more decayed than most undead, being one of the first members of the Forsaken. His skin was a sickly pale green and much of his joints were missing that layer of skin, revealing stark white bone underneath.

“Ambert, I see you received my letter. Meet my wife, Jaina Proudmoore.”

Ambert raised a thin eyebrow as he glanced between Jaina and Sylvanas, before giving a bow. “Archmage Proudmoore, it is an honor to be your assistant during your stay in the Undercity.”

“Assistant?” Jaina asked, shooting a look at Sylvanas.

Sylvanas gestured towards one of the doors. “Take a look.”

A suspicious look fell across Jaina’s face, but she obliged and pushed the door open.

“Is this-“ Jaina trailed off, her expression unreadable.

Sylvanas stepped beside her and nodded. “A laboratory for your magical research? Yes.” She gestured back to Ambert. “And I’ve assigned the Forsaken’s best mage to assist you.”

Jaina looked back at her; that fondness in her shining eyes once again drawing a complex emotion out of the banshee. Sylvanas was sure she’d do anything to see that small smile Jaina had given her again. The mage’s face fell into a frown, however, as she looked back at Ambert. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” Jaina extended a hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Ambert. I’m honored to work with such an esteemed theorist.”

Sylvanas was surprised to see Jaina wasn’t disgusted by the rotted skin and exposed sinew of Ambert’s hand as it clasped into her own, shaking firmly. 

“You know who I am, Lady Proudmoore?”

Jaina nodded with a friendly smile. “Ambert Brooker, right? Years ago, you wrote a dissertation on the benefits of polymorph in the wool industry.”

“Yes, that’s me. That paper got popular in Dalaran, didn’t it? I never did get any volunteers for that experiment. There were some concerns involving loss of hair after being sheer-“

Sylvanas tuned out the conversation, stepping forward into the lab. She hadn’t seen it herself, after all. Merely writing requests to the builders of Lordaeron to create a room fitting for an Archmage of the Kirin Tor. It was well organized, a bookshelf full of tomes of magical theory resting against the wall between two hand-carved desks. There was even a small placard on one of them with Jaina’s name on it. A nice touch. Against the other wall sat a large table, filled with vials of all sizes and shapes. Small bottles containing various potion reagents filled the shelves above the table. 

“Sylvanas?”

Sylvanas’ attention was drawn back to Jaina. “Yes, Proudmoore?”

“Thank you,” Sylvanas tried to ignore the feeling Jaina’s genuine smile rose in her. “For making it easier for me to return to my research.”

Sylvanas reached a hand up to trace a knuckle along Jaina cheekbone; the warmth of her skin had a calming effect on the banshee. “It’s my duty to ensure my wife is well taken care of.”

“I could name a few other things you could take care of-“

A loud clearing of a throat forced them to snap their attention back to where Ambert was standing, an annoyed expression on his face. “While you finish your ‘tour’,” He said, with unnecessary emphasis. “I will retreat to my quarters. Send for me whenever you need my help, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Of course, Ambert. I look forward to working with you.”

Ambert nodded. “Don’t get up to anything too strenuous.”

Before Sylvanas could threaten him, he was already breezing out of the door, uneven footsteps echoing down the hallway. She looked back at Jaina who was giving her an amused look.

“What?”

“I like him. Do you always let him talk to you like that?”

“Let him?” Sylvanas scoffed, “Of course not, he just hasn’t learned his lesson yet, is all. It wouldn’t surprise you to hear he gets along well with Anya.”

Jaina laughed, “Of course he does,” The humor in her eyes faded to a coy look, but Sylvanas could see the heat in her gaze. “So, the bedchambers are next on the tour?”

Sylvanas eyed her suspiciously for a moment, before taking Jaina’s arm and leading her out of the room. “Not quite.” Bringing Jaina to the door just across from the laboratory, she turned the handle and pushed open the door, waving her hand to hint for Jaina to step inside.

Jaina’s eyes were primarily drawn to a couch and a plush chair with a bar between them. A bar that happened to be stocked to the brim with wine and liquor from around Azeroth. From the sweet wines of Quel’Thalas to the heady ports of Durotan. Jaina looked nearly ready to faint, looking back at Sylvanas, who kept her face effortlessly emotionless. 

“You’re really catering to Kul Tiran in me.”

Sylvanas allowed a small smirk and tilted her head, hands behind her back and voice full of mirth, she replied, “I have to make sure my lush of a wife is well taken care of.” 

“I am not a lush!” Jaina defended, crossing her arms with mock indignation.

“All Kul Tirans are lushes. It’s hereditary.”

“That’s a stereotype.”

Sylvanas tilted her head to the other side. “Maybe, but it’s true.”

Jaina cracked a grin. “It is true.”

Sylvanas gave a nod to the rest of the room. “While it’s only natural you would immediately gravitate towards the bar…”

Jaina looked up from where she was already preparing to pour herself some whiskey imported from Ironforge, chilling the glass with a minuscule amount of magic. She shot Sylvanas a sheepish look as she took a sip.

“...I still would like to show you the rest.” Sylvanas gestured to the other end of the room.

Jaina knocked back the rest with skill only someone who grew up around sailors could possess, slamming the glass on the table. “Sorry, it’s just been so long since I’ve had decent whiskey.”

“Kul Tiran whiskey is tasteless,” Sylvanas conceded.

Jaina scoffed. “Everything is tasteless to you. Although, you’re right. Kul Tiran whiskey is strong, but not as high quality as dwarven whiskey.”

“Spoken like a true lush.”

Jaina rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn’t even bother to defend herself. As she scanned the rest of the room, Sylvanas felt something akin to nervousness roil in her gut. Jaina’s face was nearly unreadable as she scrutinized the decoration and furniture. Would she like it? Would she even tell Sylvanas if she didn’t?

Disgust rose, stifling the anxiety as soon as it came. Annoyed with herself, Sylvanas’ mouth curved down. When had she begun worrying so much about what Jaina thought? It seemed that the notion of caring for others’ opinions on frivolous matters was not one of the things she lost with death, after all.

Of course it wasn’t. Out of all petty emotions-

“I love it.”

She snapped out of her thoughts. “What?”

“I love the decoration.” Jaina pointed to one of the tapestries on the wall, a mixture of green and maroon. “And a clever way of showing our unity. Combining our colors like that.”

“I consulted the finest color theorist in Lordaeron.” Sylvanas quipped, taking a step towards Jaina. 

“And who is that?”

“Myself.”

“You’re lucky vanity looks good on you.” Jaina gave a genuine smile and trailed her hand along the polished wood of a desk. “This wood is all the way from Ashenvale.”

Sylvanas nodded. “I had the desk imported from my quarters in Orgrimmar. This room will double as my workspace and a place of relaxation.”

Sylvanas thought it was a brilliant idea, separating sleep and work. They could do their work separately (Jaina in her laboratory, and Sylvanas here) without worrying about overstepping or interfering in each other’s work. In that same stride, work would be kept out of the bedroom, keeping Sylvanas from potentially waking Jaina if she had any late night projects to finish. If not to keep Jaina from working herself into exhaustion like she was prone to do.

“So,” Jaina said slowly, turning to face Sylvanas, “The bedroom?”

“You’ve been rather rapacious lately.” Sylvanas jested mostly to herself, motioning Jaina to the door, “Ladies first.”

“Whatever you say, ‘Lady Windrunner’,” Jaina scoffed, stepping through the doorway.

Sylvanas gave an indulgent grin as she followed Jaina to the final door directly at the end of the hall. That maddening feeling of apprehension rose again as Sylvanas watched Jaina turn the handle. She folded her hands behind her back, squeezing tightly in an attempt to quell the rising anxiety. Why did she care so much about Jaina’s opinion?

As Jaina cracked the door, Sylvanas unconsciously stepped forward, her eyes searching the mage’s face for any negative reaction.

There was none.

Expression filled with a mix of approval and awe, Jaina’s gaze flitted from the immaculate brick fireplace, to the maroon lounge chairs in front of it. She stepped farther into the room, eyeing the velvet drapes that concealed the balcony.

“Were you an interior designer in your spare time?” Jaina asked, finally.

“No,” Sylvanas chuckled, “I sent the plans to Lordaeron weeks beforehand, but this was all done by their hand.”

“They need a pay raise.”

Sylvanas smiled again, relief settling in her chest as she watched Jaina plop down on the large bed and bury her face in the satin sheets. Sylvanas shut the door behind her, moving to stand towards the edge of the bed where the Lord Admiral was laying.

“I take it you’re satisfied with the tower?”

“Very,” Jaina answered, turning over to lean up on her elbows and unexpectedly tug Sylvanas down on top of her.

Sylvanas braced herself with an arm next to Jaina’s head, stopping herself from crushing the mage with her armor. “Be careful not to start something you don’t intend to finish.”

Jaina reached one hand up to cup Sylvanas’ cheek, the other working to pull her hood from her head. “Oh, I intend to finish.”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could make a witty remark, she was being pulled down into a kiss by the nape of her neck.

Kissing Jaina was far more addicting and thrilling than any amount of arcane she absorbed during her time as a high elf. It was electrifying and calming at once. A pleasant contradiction. When Jaina’s lips parted to deepen the kiss, Sylvanas felt a phantom feeling of heat pool in her stomach. It didn’t help that Jaina was actively fueling that by caressing the tips of her ears. Suppressing a shiver, Sylvanas lightly dug her fingers in the smooth skin of Jaina’s thigh underneath- When had her hand gotten there?

Hearing Jaina’s breath hitch encouraged her to move her hand higher and graze her fingers along the heated skin of Jaina’s inner thigh.

Remembering something, she pulled her hand away, ignoring Jaina’s huff of disappointment.

“Sylvanas-“

Sylvanas pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Patience, Jaina. I have something for you.”

Jaina raised an eyebrow as Sylvanas pushed herself up and walked towards the wardrobe in the corner of the room. Sylvanas ignored her confused expression and opened the wardrobe, pleasantly surprised to find an inconspicuous box waiting for her.

Before she could take it, however, an urgent knock came from the door.

“Are you kidding me?” Sylvanas heard Jaina grumble behind her, sitting up and fixing her robes to once again look presentable.

Sylvanas withheld a disappointed sigh, donning a stoic face and cracking open the door, only to find Nokrogroa standing there.

“What is it, Champion?”

“An urgent missive from Kul Tiras, Dark Lady.”

Jaina appeared behind Sylvanas, concern furrowing her features. “Boralus? What could’ve possibly happened in the hours since we’ve been there?”

Nokrogroa’s hand tightened on his polearm. “Nothing has happened in Boralus, Lady Proudmoore. It’s Stormsong Monastery. There’s reports coming in of sudden attacks from the Void originating from there.”

Sylvanas’ face hardened as she placed a comforting hand on Jaina’s arm. “Ready the forces then. We’ll port to Stormsong Valley in an hour.”

“Aye, my Queen.” Nokrogroa gave a salute and sped down the hallway.

Sylvanas looked back at Jaina, who seemed deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”

Jaina’s face paled as realization dawned on her face. “We should’ve been keeping a closer eye on the tidesages.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I recently went back to work and I’ve been so damn busy with it. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.


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